The Dragon's Legacy

by Deborah A. Wolf

  “Yes,” Bretan agreed. “Eleni! You and the girls need to close up and go. Now. We must leave, too, the sooner the better.” He looked at Ani. “I hope this man of yours is worth all our blood.”

  She strode to the still and bloodied form of Leviathus ap Wyvernus ne Atu, brother of the daughter of her heart. She turned him over and gave a long sigh of relief when his chest rose and fell with life. The glamor still held, though it had begun to unravel a bit around the edges.

  Best take him with us, she thought, and send word to Hafsa Azeina that he is safe. I cannot tell snake from viper in this place.

  “I hope so, too,” she said. “Fairussa, Gavria, dress and bind his wounds as best you can in a hurry. We leave now.”

  “Yes, Youthmistress.” Fairussa bowed her head. “It is a very good day to die.”

  “Mutaani.” She smiled grimly. “But let us try to survive this one, shall we?”

  THIRTY - SEVEN

  Hannei rode as an equal with the First Warrior and a fist of seasoned warriors for the first time in her life. For years she had looked forward to her first sharib, to being honored and feasted along with the other Ja’Akari by the Ja’Sajani. Never had she imagined that her first sharib might come after a death—and that this death might be that of the First Mother was unthinkable. Unspeakable.

  Khutlani.

  The warm air caressed the oiled skin of her temples, and her new-braided hair pulled her face tight as the skin of a drum. Clad only in a warrior’s short trousers, she felt as bare and free under the sun as a woman could wish. As if there was not a place in the world for shadows to hide. Beside her rode Sareta, resplendent in her warrior’s garb. The black and green, gold and scarlet plumes of a lionsnake bull swept back from her head, and the long ceremonial belt of the pride’s foremost warrior draped to one side of her saddle, gleaming in the sun with thread-of-gold. Tiny brass bells attached to her vest matched those on her mare’s tack. The bells sang a merry tune with every step, and announced to the world that on this day the Ja’Akari rode in peace.

  Beyond the walls of Aish Kalumm, on the shores of the river Dibris, stood the new First Mother with her hands spread wide in welcome. Akari Sun Dragon fanned his fiery wings and blessed the people, and the sharib spread before them spoke of hope, and life, and plenty. As the wind came down the river, the sands began their ululation, calling to her, welcoming her, singing Hannei home at last.

  “Is it as good as your dreams?” asked the First Warrior as they unsaddled their mares and left them to graze under the watchful eyes of the younglings. Hannei nodded to a big-eyed girl, hardly as tall as her hip, who stared at them in mute worship.

  “It is as I had dreamed,” she agreed. “Though it feels wrong…” Hannei let the wind carry her words away.

  “Life goes on, young warrior,” Sareta answered. “No matter what.”

  She bowed her head.

  As they took their places among the Ja’Akari, Neptara daughter of Nurati caught sight of them. She waved both arms as if shooing birds away from a crop, and then hiked her long skirts up to her knees and hurried to join them, a broad grin blossoming upon her beautiful face. Truly, it hurt to look at a daughter of Nurati and think that such a woman might never walk among them again. A world bereft of Umm Nurati was as unthinkable as the Zeera without sun, or sand, or horses.

  “Aue, Hannei, look at you!” Neptara clasped Hannei’s hands and kissed her cheeks. “You are so gorgeous! Our enemies will fall on their swords rather than fight you. And that mare of yours! Is she Uthraki? They never sell their good mares.” Her grin was infectious. Hannei saw that she wore her mother’s pearl-and-ebon torc at her throat. “You shine like a sword in the sunlight, ehuani. Yesterday we were running through the streets wearing nothing but mud, and stealing sweets from the kitchen. Look at us today! My mother would…” Her smile faltered, and tears filled her eyes. She dropped Hannei’s hands and made as if to turn away. “Forgive me, cousin. This is your first sharib as Ja’Akari, and I did not mean… I did not mean to…”

  Hannei put her arm around the taller girl’s shoulders, and gave her a small squeeze. “Your mother was worth a river of tears, ehuani.” She felt a little uncomfortable, speaking of one so newly dead, but she and Neptara had been children running naked in the streets just yesterday, after all. “She smiles upon you with the sun.”

  “Khutlani,” the First Warrior warned, but her face was soft. “It is too soon to speak of such things. Under the sun I see you, Umm Neptara.”

  Neptara lowered her eyes. “Under the sun I see you, First Warrior.”

  “Umm Neptara?” Hannei squeaked in a very un-warriorlike voice. “Umm Neptara? When did this happen?”

  Neptara—Umm Neptara—dashed the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Now Hannei noticed the thin copper bracelets of a mother-in-waiting. “Some four moons ago,” she grinned. “I will not tell you exactly which night.”

  “Are you still with Zeevi?”

  “None for me but my Zeevi,” the other girl agreed with a blush.

  “He is good to you, then?”

  “He is. When I told him…” She glanced at the First Warrior and leaned in close to whisper, “He cried.”

  “Good, then I will not have to kill him. I am happy for you, ehuani. And so soon!” For the other girl had only taken her hayatani last year.

  “Have you taken your hayatani yet?”

  “Not yet. But the day is young!” The girls shared a laugh under the sun. It felt good.

  First warrior was right—life does go on.

  Sareta harrumphed, but her eyes were merry.

  “Za fik, you two. Next you will start discussing the attributes of this stallion or that, and I am long past the days of rump-patting. I will see you at the feast this evening, Hannei Ja’Akari?”

  Hannei bowed deeply, and her face felt sunburned from the inside. “You honor me, First Warrior.”

  “Yes, I do.” The older woman winked. “Ah! Weaver Munwal! A moment of your time…” She was off in a swirl of white silk and bright feathers.

  Neptara sighed after her. “When I was a little girl, I wanted nothing but to be First Warrior. To ride across the sands on my good war-trained mare, keep the prides safe, and grind our enemies beneath my heel.”

  “And now?” Hannei could not quite fathom giving up that dream. It was all she had ever wanted, as well.

  The other girl shrugged easily. “Now I hope for a quieter life. I have been painting with Master Louwana and she says I have a fine hand for illustrating. I love it. I have the pride within me—” she touched her belly in that odd manner peculiar to expectant mothers “—and you, my friend, will be First Warrior and keep her safe.”

  Hannei shook her head at Neptara’s serene expression. “You will paint pretty pictures and bear children, when you could be riding with the wind?”

  “You would rather ride into danger than kiss your daughter’s cheek?” Neptara laughed. “Every color has its place in the painting, ehuani. Peace, cousin. Who knows what tomorrow may bring? Perhaps I will ride into the face of death, and you will bear a half-dozen cubs.”

  “Ai yeh, Atu forbid! But I am happy for you, if this is your wish.”

  “We are both happy.” A cheeky grin. “Let us go find Tammas Ja’Sajani, and see if we can increase your happiness! It is not mete that such a pretty girl as you is still a virgin.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “You will get your headdress tonight, and it is well time for you to claim your due as a warrior. You look so beautiful today, he can hardly refuse you.”

  Indeed, Hannei felt beautiful. Her oiled braids swayed and stroked at the skin of her back, and her breasts were bared to the sun as was proper for a newmade warrior. Istaza Ani had once laughed that for the first year of a warrior’s adult life, no man would ever make eye contact with her, and she had been right. Uncomfortable as she found the heavy beaded girdle, she felt her heart swell with pride beneath all the admiring stares. One or two glances she might
have been tempted to return—the Ja’Sajani always looked so handsome in their sky-blue touar—but Hannei had specific prey in mind.

  The life of a Ja’Akari had only been half of her childhood dream, after all. The other half…

  The crowd parted before her as if at the thought, and she saw the other half of her dream in all of his muscle-bound, dimpled glory.

  “I was wondering how long it would take my brother to appear, once you arrived,” Neptara teased. “You must have him, Hannei, the two of you would make beautiful children.”

  Indeed we would, Hannei thought. Tammas had his mother’s fine bone structure, but in his face the features were strong rather than delicate. His eyes glowed with their own warm humor, and that curly hair, ai yeh. Those shoulders.

  “This is my first sharib, after all. It is only fair…”

  Tammas looked up just at that moment, and his eyes locked with hers. Hannei felt something warm and wild uncoiling in the pit of her belly, like Sajani Earth Dragon waking after her long sleep. There were fires lit within her, flames that both fed her desire and fed upon it, and she gasped as she saw, for the first time, an answering flame kindle deep within a man.

  Tammas closed the distance between them in a few long strides.

  He moves, she thought, as if he owns the world.

  “Hannei Ja’Akari.” His voice was like his eyes, warm and sweet and intoxicating. She had never expected to drown in the desert. “Hannei. Under the sun I see you and wish you a good sharib. As Ja’Sajani, I am honored to serve you today… if you wish.”

  “Tammas Ja’Sajani,” she answered, and blushed at the sound of her own voice. “I would like that very much.”

  His laugh shivered across her bare skin, though his eyes never strayed from hers.

  “If you want anything on this day, you need but ask,” he purred. “You never can tell… I might just say no.” Then he leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth.

  Her heart stopped. Akari Sun Dragon stopped his long flight across the sky and his bright golden scales dimmed toward latesun. The music stopped, the laughter, the smells and sounds of sharib, everything in the world stopped as Tammas kissed Hannei for the first time. Her hand rose of its own volition and curled into a fist in his hair as she pressed herself into him, heedless of anything but the taste and touch, the smell and the warmth.

  She could feel the sweat at the back of his neck beneath her fingertips. She could feel the muscles in his jaw flex as he opened his mouth and devoured hers. The ground beneath her feet shuddered as deeply as her own flesh as Sajani stirred in her sleep, roused from her dreams by their passion.

  Eventually he pulled back, just a little, and the Dragon fell once more into dreaming. A hawk screamed overhead, and the sound of sharib broke upon them like sand in a storm. Someone laughed nearby, the sound as harsh and unwelcome as a carrion crow’s mocking voice.

  “…need to get a tent.”

  “Ssst!” Neptara hissed. “It is Ayyam Binat, and her right.”

  “Hannei Ja’Akari. Have you chosen this man as your hayatani?”

  At the sound of the First Warrior’s voice, Hannei was able to find her breath. She took a small step back from Tammas. He did the same… but she could still feel the heat of him.

  “Yes,” she said, and blushed again. “If he agrees.”

  “Ohhhh, yes.” Tammas’s voice was so deep and husky she could not help but sway close to him again.

  “Here I thought this sharib was going to be dull.” The First Warrior’s voice was dry and crackled with good humor. “Well, it is a good match, in any case. Ah, ah! Not before dinner, children.” Hands were on them, between them, pushing the two of them farther apart. “Hannei Ja’Akari, I think you had best stay with me until after the ceremonies. It would not do for you to miss your first sharib, now would it? Feast before dessert, girl.”

  This time the laughter was good-natured. Hannei sighed as a crowd of blue touar surrounded Tammas and led him away. His bonded vash’ai, magnificent Dairuz, padded over and regarded her with his yellow-and-green eyes. He pulled his lips back from his tusks and opened his mouth at her, curling his pink tongue as he tasted her scent, and then shook his head with a satisfied grunt.

  You will do, he said to her directly. A fine queen, a strong huntress for him. I approve.

  “Sire.” She bowed her head. He stared at her a moment longer and then, catlike, turned away with no further word.

  The First Warrior watched her closely. Her face gave nothing away, but Hannei thought she did not approve.

  “First Warrior. I know I am supposed to ask his mother’s permission first, but…”

  “I can tell you that Nurati would have given her permission, Hannei Ja’Akari. She had you in mind for Tammas all along. Ehuani, it is too late now for regret.”

  Hannei regretted nothing.

  Were Akari himself to forbid me this man, she thought, I would disobey.

  Neptara poked her arm and grinned. “I thought the two of you were going to—”

  “Here, girl.” An older woman, short and sturdy and wearing bright robes of yellow and green, pressed a wineskin into Hannei’s hand. “This will help. I went through the same thing, when I was your age. One day I could not stand the sight of my Hadid, and the next it was as if I had been struck by lightning.”

  Hannei lifted the wineskin to her lips, in part to block the image of middle-aged persons kissing one another, and shot a thin stream of jiinberry wine into her mouth. It was crisp, and sweet, and tasted of summer days on the river.

  “My thanks, Craftmistress.” She tried to hand the wineskin back, but the other woman stepped back, both hands high, a grin creasing her round features.

  “Oh, you keep it, girl.” She chuckled. “You are going to need all the help you can get. Well do I remember Ayyam Binat.”

  Hannei laughed and took another mouthful of wine. It was better, with Tammas away, but she could feel him pulling at her spirit as if he were a lodestone and she a handful of iron dust.

  Or more accurately, iron lust.

  The rest of the day trickled by like sand through an hourglass, every minute of it spent soaked in awareness of his presence.

  The Ja’Sajani hosted this sharib, as the Ja’Akari would host one in autumn, the wardens would feast and gift the warriors profusely, placing the women in their debt until the harvest time. In this small way the people sought to maintain the balance of sa and ka.

  The first order of business was the granting and passing on of honors and titles. Although Hannei usually dozed through this part—something she and Sulema had both learned to do with their eyes open—this year was different. This year, instead of Umm Nurati presenting them all with her newest babe, a new First Mother was presented to the people. Nurati, the Mother of Mothers, would never again bless them with her beauty and grace.

  Hannei could scarce remember Nurati’s predecessor, a dusky woman with white hair who had favored garlands of red and yellow flowers. She had certainly never expected to watch as Nurati’s replacement stood to have the white sand-eagle headdress placed upon her brow, or the silver-and-lapis torc fastened about her neck. This new woman seemed an impostor, even to the child she held in her arms, the fussing, squalling infant daughter of Nurati.

  Hannei craned her neck to see Tammas. Tears shone on his face, and she wished she were standing at his side.

  After the naming of a new First Mother came the results of the Ja’Sajani census counts—live births, stillbirths, debts incurred and paid, and deaths. More had died this past year than had been born, as had been the norm since before Hannei’s time, but this had been an especially bad year. Only two people—one of them Ismai—had been chosen Zeeravashani, and Paraja had elected to return to the wild vash’ai following the death of her kithren. A sore blow to the people.

  She listened with only half a heart as the stallion rights for the year were announced. The beads she and Sulema had tied into the manes of those young Uthraki stallions had gon
e unnoticed, and they now had the right to breed their mares to Zeitan fleet-foot and Ruhho the brave-hearted black. Sulema should be with her on this day of all days—this was to have been their victory together, not hers alone. But at the next thought she smothered a grin.

  When Sulema found out about Tammas, she was going to kill her.

  Hannei wondered whether her sword-sister had found any of the outlander men suitable as hayatani, but thought not.

  Several of the Ja’Sajani danced for them, a man’s dance of high jumps and shouts and suggestive spear-thrusting. It was an exciting dance, meant to rouse the blood and catch the eyes of young women on the prowl. And it was quite effective. Hannei drank the last of the jiinberry wine and was glad Tammas had not been chosen for this year’s dance. A warrior could only be expected resist so much, after all.

  As if he heard her thought, Tammas turned his head just enough to catch her eye, and his dimples deepened in a way that made her think of him…

  “Hannei Ja’Akari.”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, her head whipped forward with an audible snap. Neptara winced in sympathy. Sareta rose and made her way to the table where the other important women were seated. Ismai stood there, dressed all in Ja’Sajani blue and looking more like his older brother than ever. He held a large silk-draped bundle in his hands and a grin on his face. At his side stood his young vash’ai queen with the laughing eyes.

  “Hannei!” he called again, though he looked straight at her. “Hannei Ja’Akari!”

  Hannei stepped forward, pushing her way through a crowd that mostly outranked her, murmuring a thousand and one apologies as she did so. She stopped as she came before her younger cousin and bowed, and then started a little when she straightened and had to look up at his face. When had Ismai grown so tall? When had his shoulders grown so broad?

  “I cannot reach your head from there.”

  “Ja’Sajani?” She stepped forward.

  Ismai whisked the silk cover away with a flourish, and the crowd gasped its admiration. In his hands, he held a lionsnake headdress nearly the equal of Sareta’s own. His grin widened and he held it high for all to see.