by Calista Skye
For a moment I just stare. “About me?”
“Yes! I don’t want you to be sick. I want to help you get well!”
I have never before experienced my mind being turned inside out and upside down at the same time. I can only think of one response. “Why?”
She puts a hand lightly on my forearm. “Because I… I love you.”
I sense no falsehood in her, but on the other hand her presence does appear to muddle my perceptions considerably. “I don’t know how you can.”
Her hand squeezes my arm. “It’s actually not that hard.”
I thought I had heard everything in my two hundred years alive, among both dragons and other aliens. But this? “I see.”
“Do you need a hoard? Gold?”
The mere mention of the word makes gold coins dance in front of my eyes. Yes, some gold would make a big difference. “Perhaps.”
“If you could get gold – would that make you better?”
My knees almost buckle in longing when she says the word again. “I think it might.”
“Can you show me the village? I might be able to find some there.”
The thought of a long walk in a jungle with dragons everywhere, all of whom will spot my weakness, makes me almost cringe. And the destination is a tribe of all slayers. “I can.”
“Let’s go. Now.”
I stand up to take her into the jungle and guide her to her people. Then the world spins in front of me and I am looking at the dry, dead grass from up close. Very close. “It appears that I can’t, after all.”
23
- Mia -
He stands swaying for a moment, and then he collapses with a heavy thud. He mutters something I can’t catch, and then he’s out.
I bend over him, my hands suddenly shaking. “Kyandros?”
Kneeling down, I put my ear to his mouth. He’s still breathing, but not as deeply as before.
What the hell do I do? That magic space gel that does wonders with even large wounds and burns when we girls use it or apply it to a caveman is clearly just poison to a dragon.
I shot him. I put the poison on him.
I don’t think I can nurse or care him back to consciousness. The guy doesn’t even need water. There’s only one thing that can help him.
He’s still inside the cave, so thankfully I don’t need to drag him inside again.
I put all the rest of the not-sheep fur over him and then kiss his silvery cheek. “I’ll be back.” Hopefully, he didn’t hear that — my voice trembles too much to induce much confidence.
Then I get the crossbow and load it with the one bolt I have left. I get the backpack and then walk as fast as I can out of the melted circle, into the clearing that’s now all frozen mud and patches of dirty snow.
I do my best to clear my mind of all the unpleasant thoughts that want to make me just curl up and weep in fear and regret. I may have killed him. Now all I can do is my best to save him. And if he dies, then I guess I’ll just—
No, that way madness lies. I have to stay alert for dangers. This is Xren, after all.
I know my mission is completely hopeless. I’m betting Kyandros’ life on something that’s almost certain not to happen. But I have no other ideas.
- - -
Finding the waterfall is easy. I can hear it from miles away now. Vast amounts of water are thundering down. But when I get there, my already low spirits sink even lower.
It’s a magnificent sight, no doubt about it. Just crazy. The enormous masses of water plunge five hundred feet straight down over the cliff. All the snow that’s melted must have overwhelmed the whole system, because while before the water came out of a V-shaped spout in the rock, now it just splashes over the edge like from a bucket.
I spot a tree with the leaves that the lab coat girls used to carry water in the first days on Bune – they’re bowl-shaped and have a waxy surface that I know from experience is not as waterproof as you’d think, but it should be okay for my purposes.
I approach the pool under the waterfall, which is now at least five times as big as before. The water is dirty and muddy, but I try to ignore what that might mean for my plan and just walk downstream, following what is now mighty rapids until the stream calms down and widens out a little.
I kneel down at the water’s edge and dip the leaf in, scooping up some mud and gravel. My endless watching of airplane documentaries and any show that would follow them on Discovery channel should now finally pay off.
Please let it pay off.
I swirl the mud around in the bottom of the leaf. It’s a dull brown at first glance, but as I slosh the water over the edge of the leaf and it takes the lighter material with it, I start to see each little grain of sand and each little pebble as its own thing, with its own colors, shape and size.
I slosh out more and more water and mud, and finally I’m left with a little residue of sand and small pebbles.
On the gold-panning television shows I’ve seen far too many of, this is the stage where I should be able to see any tiny fragments of gold because they would glitter and shine with unmistakable yellow. ’Color,’ as the grizzled old Alaskan prospectors call it on the shows.
Nope.
Nothing. Not a single grain.
I’m struck with the absurdity of what I’m doing. Panning for gold to save the life of a dragon.
Yes, it’s absurd and insane. But I have no idea where the village is. If I found it, I could ask for the gold that we painstakingly buried along with all the Earth objects we had. I have no idea where Brax’tan buried it, and I have strong doubts about whether the cavemen would allow any of it to be exhumed just to heal a dragon, one of the enemy. Who might well be trying to trick us. That point would be made very thoroughly by not just the cavemen, but the girls, too.
And they would be right in not giving me any. In their place, I wouldn’t.
So I have to find some of my own.
I dip the leaf into the mud again and slosh the water around in a circular movement like I’ve seen countless times on television. When those guys hit paydirt, they find like a couple of grains of gold in one pan and pronounce it worth all kinds of effort and processing.
After ten pans, I’ve found nothing. Not one grain.
The hollow feeling intensifies. This is a desperate activity at the best of times. And finding gold is notoriously difficult.
On Earth, anyway. But my reasoning still holds. A river that flows from and possibly through untouched mountains like these might well carry gold with it and deposit it on the bottom. Gold in itself is not a rare element in the universe.
But the chances of these particular mountains containing gold in any amount are not just remote, but almost zero. It is the longest shot of my life. Probably the longest shot in the history of Xren.
And yet… Car’rakz’s tribe did collect heaps of gold. Not far from here, certainly within a couple of days’ walk. They mined it, of course. But by my logic, panning for gold doesn’t require me to find a seam of it, like they did. That would need more luck than I think I’ll ever have. But the water here now will come from much further away than usual because of the thaw, and it will carry with it all kinds of sand and gravel and mud from many huge areas that normally don’t have flowing water. I think my chances are better now than at any other time.
Twenty empty pans later, I’m much less sure.
Okay. Let’s think about this.
Gold is heavy, of course. It will be the first of the grains that sink to the bottom.
I lift my gaze up to the high cliff.
So of course, they will not splash over the edge of the waterfall at all.
The particles will sink to the bottom before that. Those cliffs up there and the pool of water they keep back is like a huge pan.
I’m downstream of a great gold obstacle. A screen that keeps all the gold away.
I look up at the waterfall again. I have to get up there. If there’s gold in those mountains, that’s where it will be. A
mile away and five hundred feet up. I’ll have to walk a long semicircle uphill, through the woods, to get around the steepest rock. The walk will be beyond exhausting.
If I even survive. I’ll have to climb up that steep hill, among trees and bushes and sharp rocks, on ground that is extremely slippery and muddy.
And who knows how many of Xren’s terrible monsters I’ll meet on the way.
Do I want Kyandros to recover that badly?
- - -
Up here, the water is calm before it splashes over the edge and starts its fall. It reminds me of the immense amount of water held in place by the Oroville Dam. Calm and deep.
I’m not in good shape. The walk took most of the day and has left me scratched, sore, and so worn out in every way, I don’t even have the energy to weep bitterly. I’m more out of breath than I’ve ever been in my life, and I’d lie down here to rest for just a little while if I didn’t think I wouldn’t be able to get up again. Now, there’s no Kyandros to drag me to safety.
The huge lake is constantly being fed by large streams and rivers coming from the mountains in just about every direction. If there is any gold dust in the water from there, it must sink to the bottom as soon as it hits the much calmer lake, where the current from the rivers peters out pretty fast. And I see the exact spot where it must end up.
I sob for a couple of seconds, but without tears. There is just despair. I have to do this.
Better just get it done and face my defeat. There is not going to be any gold here. My efforts are in vain and Kyandros is going to die.
I wade into the icy water over to the rocky little island. A lot of mud has built up on the side of it that faces the probably twenty rivers and streams that keep filling the lake. I have to dig down through that mass to find the heaviest particles, the ones that will hit the island, lose all their momentum, and then sink to the bottom.
I crawl onto the muddy shore and don’t have the energy to get up on my feet. I sit down, half in the water, and straighten out the edges of the leaf.
Lifting my gaze to the approximate direction where Kyandros lies dying, I clutch the dactyl-tooth necklace to somehow get closer to him. Then I send him a thought that I mean to be uplifting. But it turns out otherwise.
I’m so sorry I killed you.
I dig out the first fruitless mass of mud and start swirling it around in the bottom of the leaf.
24
- Kyandros -
“He will be dead soon. Such a pity!”
“He was always pitiful. Oh well, he has nothing worth stealing. The scales of a sick dragon are worthless.”
“Are you sure? He has silver scales. Very beautiful and striking.”
“Of course, I’m sure. They’re tainted by that black sickness. See his arms? And the feet. Ooh, and the face! Sweet gold, he must be dead already.”
“If I kill him with a blade, surely that blade will be hoard-worthy? It is then a slayer blade.”
“If he were at his full strength, yes. But now? Killing a sick dragon is only weak, not strong. Even if it is Kyandros. That blade would only taint you. Shall we go? This sight is both felicitous and depressing. Kyandros is dead, and that is reason for joy. The Duchess must choose one of us now. But the way he died… yes, pitiful.”
“You have orange scales, don’t you?”
“Oh, don’t try that with me. No blade will penetrate them, and if you try I will just rip your head off and use your skull as the container for my gold coins.”
“Do you have such coins?”
“Perhaps not yet. But I certainly shall, soon. Every planet has gold. Surely this one must, too. And then the Duchess will mate with me and not with Galindilan.”
“Are you sure you can find coins in time? He has already given her a rock with silver in it. Now she never leaves his side. It is only a matter of time before she will decide to mate with him, and then they will leave us behind.”
“There is time. She is reluctant, haven’t you noticed? He is old, and a rock with some silver in it is a pitiful hoard.”
“It is a sufficient hoard. If you don’t bring some gold immediately, then she will mate with him. Especially now that Kyandros is dead.”
“Perhaps. No, I will find some. As the snow melts, the rocks come back into view and I will hunt for good ones tomorrow. I remember that old Caruturiscor had only silver in his hoard. It appeared enough for him. No gold! Can you imagine? One wonders if he might have…”
The voices disappear in the distance and I breathe a little more freely.
That was Hunderet and Revetax, the two others in Duchess Berilona’s entourage. I woke up to the sound of their talking.
She might mate with Galindilan. I know that news should make me furious. But I can’t get upset about it, not even annoyed.
I take a moment to collect my sluggish thoughts, but in the end I can’t do it. The only thing I feel sure about is that I’m not dead, although my demise must be close at hand if even those two idiots think that I might be gone already. Well, I do appear to be lying down, so their conclusion isn’t entirely unwarranted.
Dragons never think much about what happens after the end. This life and this world are enough to fill our days, the relentless search for a hoard. We only worry about someone taking the hoard after we’re gone.
The very thought makes me groan weakly. A hoard! It is the only thing that could save me.
For some reason it makes me think of Mia. Her sweet scent, the small, flat claws on her fingers and toes, her softness, her cautious little smile that sometimes breaks out into careful laughter, her soft hair, her noises and obvious joy when I mated with her...
A little wave of strength runs through me and I mobilize the power to roll over onto my back.
Mia. Why does she seem so important? So important that she pushes the thought of a hoard to the back of my mind?
Impossible. This illness must have made me delirious and insane.
I think of my old hoard, so far away. It’s safe in its cave, so well hidden that nobody could ever find it. There’s gold and gems and all kinds of precious things.
The image fades, and instead I see her face in my mind’s eye.
Mia. Where is she? Is she safe?
I experience a sudden panic and sit up. Where is she?
Nowhere to be found.
As in passing, I notice that I can’t feel my hands or feet, even when I try to prod them.
I struggle to get up onto my knees, and hoisting myself up on the rock wall I finally succeed. I sway and almost collapse again, but the thought of Mia keeps giving me strength and I stay up.
For about one breath.
Then I weakly slip down the rock wall, and even thinking hard about Mia’s face and the way her round hip feels under my hand only produces a slight and temporary brightness in my mind.
I’m seeing the sky again, the alien sky of this forsaken planet. There are clouds and a greenish blue tinge.
The hunger for a hoard is so intense it feels like I am burning.
This, I’m sure, is what the old dragons feel right before their demise. They have a hoard under them, but it is no longer enough. They need more to be satisfied, but they’re too old to go out and find more valuables. And so they perish in a torturous hunger that fills their bodies.
I am perishing now, dying because I have no hoard nearby and because there is a poison working on my wounds.
She killed me. But not on purpose.
I manage a dry laugh as the light goes out in my mind.
She, that small, soft woman, killed a dragon. Without even meaning to!
She is magnificent.
25
- Mia -
It’s been dark a long time when I drag myself the final yards into the melted circle. The snow is all melted and gone, but the circle is still visible because it is the only dry place and it appears a little lighter in hue. Thankfully, the little blue moon Yrf is up, or else I wouldn’t have been able to spot it.
The
final half mile, I have been taking breaks every ten steps, just supporting myself on a tree trunk and trying to conjure up the motivation to not sit down forever, to trick myself to keep going.
Just ten steps more, to that tree there.
Okay, I’m here.
Now just ten steps more. I am the only thing between Kyandros and death.
No, he must be dead already.
He might not be.
But if he is, wouldn’t it be a shame if I didn’t use this unique chance to sit down at the root of this tree?
He might be alive. I must make sure. Ten more steps, that’s all.
When I finally get there and stagger into the dark cave, there’s no jubilation or relief. Just exhaustion.
I fall down onto my knees and locate the dragon with my hands. The moonlight doesn’t reach in here.
I move gingerly, fearing that my hands will encounter a cold body.
There is still some warmth.
I don’t know how to do this. I have to use my other hand to carefully pry the fingers off the little ball of waxy leaves. They’re too stiff and cold to move by themselves after they have been clamped around the ball for many hours and many miles.
I carefully peel the soft ball open and place it on the ground right by his face.
“Kyandros,” I whisper, because that’s the only sound I can make right now. “Wake up.”
Nothing.
Okay, maybe physical contact is needed.
I wet one finger and let it slide across the small heap of gold dust in the middle of the leaves. A couple of tiny flakes attach to it, and I stroke it between his half-open lips.
The huge body twitches.
I pull my hand back, leaving the flakes on his dry lips.
For three seconds nothing happens.
Then a forked tongue shoots out and licks along the lips, finding the gold flakes and searching for more.
Kyandros moves and his eyes open.
I lean down and push the little heap of gold in front of his eyes. “This is gold. All yours.”
