by Robin Hobb
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And so the long work day had gone, with Alise scribbling and the others sorting and moving broken things. Before long, a round hole, bigger across than a tall man’s height, gaped up at them from the centre of the simple plaza. The remains of a brick wall encircled it. The well was wedged full of more wreckage. ‘Going to have to rig a hoist to clear that,’ Swarge observed dourly. ‘Almost looks like it was stuffed down there apurpose,’ he opined, and Carson had agreed with several colourful profanities added.
It had not just fallen; debris had been deliberately packed into the well until it lodged there. Even after a tripod of salvaged timbers had been erected over the well mouth, the task of removing it included breaking it free before it could be hauled up out of the mouth. As the level of debris receded, Leftrin insisted that any keeper climbing into the hole must wear a harness and have a tender. ‘No telling when that wreckage could all give way and fall in, Sa knows how deep. Don’t want a keeper or crew-hand going down with it. ’
And so the hard work of clearing the packed wreckage had begun. From dawn until dark the keepers toiled, and all the while the dragons had watched, pacing eagerly and sometimes crowding so close that keepers were forced to plead, with much flattery, for them to move back and give them all room to work. Even as night stole the colours from the sky, the dragons clustered there. Some merely stood; others prowled as if they expected game to erupt from the well shaft. Spit nosed through the heaped piles of chain, undoing most of a day’s work. Carson heaved a great sigh. ‘Dragon. Leave off that, unless you want it to take us even longer to solve this puzzle. ’
Spit stopped his rummaging and lifted his head. His eyes gleamed. ‘Silver is everything. In traces we gain it when we drink from the river or eat prey that has done so. It is threaded through the stones and bones of this place, and moves deep beneath the earth here. ’ His words were measured and spoken calmly. ‘All creatures that live here gain some Silver from what they eat and drink, and once dragons had to be content with that. We knew that the prey of this land and the waters of this land were more rejuvenating to us than anywhere else we hunted. We heard each other more clearly when we hunted here, and we could hear humans as well …’ His words trailed off and it felt to Thymara as if the night darkened around them.
‘Spit?’ Carson asked as the extraordinary flow of thought dwindled and ceased. He was not the only one staring at the mean little silver. Spit was standing stock still, staring sightlessly at the crumpled walls of the old well. The silence stretched.
Mercor broke it. ‘I feel that Spit spoke true. I cannot remember all the events he spoke of, but what I can remember fits with what he said. ’
‘Give me that!’ Carson commanded suddenly. He advanced on the small dragon and peered at him sternly. After a long pause, Spit’s jaws opened slightly. A length of chain dangled from his mouth, and then spooled out to clank to the stones of the plaza. Carson crouched down to examine it but did not touch it. ‘What just happened?’ he demanded of no one and everyone.
Mercor blew air from his nostrils. ‘There must have been a trace of Silver left on the chain, and Spit found it. ’
‘Only a tiny bit,’ Spit admitted blissfully. ‘I smelled it. And I took it while the rest of you were standing and staring like cattle. ’ His satisfaction was poisonous.
‘Now there’s the Spit we know,’ Carson muttered, and then he and the other keepers dodged away as the other dragons surged forward to investigate the well wreckage. But their snorting and shuffling of the chains and broken timbers evidently yielded nothing to them. They dispersed slowly, going back to their watch, and Thymara knew that every keeper shared her wonder. If a tiny amount of Silver could work so great a change in Spit, even temporarily, what would a flowing supply of it do for the dragons? And what would they be willing to do for it?
Sintara had visited the work site no less than three times. She had spoken little to Thymara but radiated approval at how hard the girl was working to clear the well. Thymara resented how the dragon’s enthusiasm could warm and energize her, but could not resist it. She knew she worked harder when the blue queen was watching over her. She was not the only one. Even Jerd had come to lend a hand with an enthusiasm she seldom showed for hard labour on a chilly day. Thymara had avoided her, preferring to work alongside Tats and Rapskal. It warmed her in a different way to see how easy they were with one another now. Tats had evidently been sincere about setting his jealousy aside, and Rapskal had never shown signs of feeling any. Could it be that easy, she wondered, and found that she hoped so. She had been able to relax and be more herself. When they paused in late afternoon to eat a simple meal that blessedly included hot tea with sugar and hardtack as well as their perpetual smoked meat, Jerd had strolled by behind them and made a smiling remark that the three of them seemed to have found something to enjoy together.
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Thymara had let it go by and told herself that she was proud of having done so.
But with night coming on and the cold rising from the earth to chill her hands and face, she wanted only to go home. Yes, home, she affirmed to herself. Her cosy room with her small hoard of personal items was home now. Clearing the well would have to wait for tomorrow and daylight, she thought to herself, but the others did not seem to share her desire for rest. Carson and Big Eider and Leftrin had moved to the well’s edge and were staring down into it.
‘Too dark to work any more tonight,’ Leftrin declared.
‘I’m too cold to do more right now,’ Tats called up from the depths.
Kase and Boxter were on the line for the hoist. As they pulled him up to the lip, Nortel and Rapskal were standing by to grasp his harness and swing him to sure footing. Even through his Elderling scaling, his face was red with cold and his hands looked like claws: Rapskal had to untie the knots of his harness.
As Tats stepped clear, he added, ‘I think we’re nearly there. That last chunk of timber you hauled up, the one with the piece of chain attached to it? After you hauled it out of the way, I felt around and there was a partial hole. There’s still some clearing to do, but I think there’s only two more chunks blocking it. After we jerk them out, we’ll have a clear way to the bottom of the shaft. ’
‘Was there Silver at the bottom?’ Veras asked eagerly. Her nostrils were flared and the spikes around her neck stood out like a ruffle. Jerd stood by her queen dragon, her face echoing the question.
‘Can you reach it?’ Sintara demanded. She pushed to the front of the circle and, ignoring Leftrin’s shout to be careful of his hoist, stalked over to peer down the hole. ‘I can’t see it,’ she said after a few moments. ‘But I think I smell it!’
‘The wreckage smells of Silver. That’s all. ’ Spit was pessimistic, as always. ‘All the Silver wells have gone dry, and we are doomed. I’m glad I took what I found on that chain. ’
Heeby gave a mournful call, and Rapskal dropped the harness he had been holding to run to her side. ‘No, my beauty, my darling. We are not giving up. Far from it!’ He spun back to face the men standing by the shaft. ‘Can we not lower a light of some kind? To give the dragons an answer tonight?’
Despite the deepening night and the cold, the attempt had been made. It had taken several tries. The first torch they dropped landed on the blockage and rested there, burning and blocking their view of anything below it. But by its light, they dropped two more torches, and one fell through the gap.
Thymara had lain on her belly, part of a circle of keepers peering down the hole, as the first burning torch fell. It briefly lit the gleaming walls. The shaft was perfectly circular and smooth: she saw no sign of individual bricks facing it. The flames made a shimmering reflection as they fell. And fell. Thymara was impressed with how deep her fellow keepers had descended to clear the blockage. She glanced over at Tats. ‘I couldn’t go down into the darkness like you did. I just couldn’t. ’
Rapskal was on the other
side of her. ‘Surely you could,’ he asserted quietly. His words irritated her, but she could not think why. Usually, when he said she was stronger or braver than she thought she was, she felt flattered. But not tonight, looking down into blackness.
‘I could, perhaps, but I wouldn’t,’ she countered, and he was silent.
When the third torch fell through the gap Tats had seen, it seemed to fall forever. But it did not go out.
It was keen-eyed Hennesey who said, ‘There’s something silvery down there. But not much, I don’t think. I see what might be a bucket turned on its side. But it’s not floating and neither is the torch. Looks like it’s resting on the bottom. The bucket is what I can mostly see. It’s huge. ’
‘Why so large a bucket?’ Thymara wondered aloud.
‘Big enough for a dragon to drink from,’ Rapskal asserted quietly.
In the uneven, flickering light they studied what they saw at the bottom of the shaft. Carson summed it up: ‘Looks like the well filled up with sediment and went dry, and then someone broke the mechanism and dumped it down there, blocking the shaft. If there’s any Silver down there still, it’s not standing visible. I’m not sure this is worth our time. ’ He gave a weary sigh and stretched. ‘My friends, I think we should give this up. ’
‘Clear the rubble away. ’
‘It can be dug deeper again. Elderlings can go down that hole. ’
‘Can any of the Silver be brought to the surface?’
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The dragons trumpeted their anxious queries. Thymara felt their longing for the precious stuff. It was like a thirst for water, only deeper.
‘NO!’ Spit’s furious roar drowned out all others. ‘Must have the Silver! We must! Kill you if you stop trying!’
Mercor slowly moved until he stood between Spit and the keepers. He favoured him with a long, black stare. The small silver dragon lowered his head until his muzzle pointed at the ground. He hissed low but he also stepped back.
‘Dragons don’t just want the Silver. They need it,’ Thymara said quietly. The knowledge had simply risen in her, some common bit of Elderling lore. But her words were spoken into the shocked lull that followed Spit’s outburst, and all seemed to hear them. The keepers waited, bewildered by the intensity of the dragons’ response until at last Mercor spoke, his words measured and slow. As he often did, he ignored Spit’s outburst.
‘Once, there were places in the river where the Silver ran just beneath the water. And dragons could get what they needed for themselves. There were seasons when it ran shallow, and sometimes, after an earthquake, one place would lose its Silver, but we would scent it out in another. It was precious stuff, and the best seeps were protected jealously by the strongest drakes. ’
He was silent for a time, as if he sought the most ancient of memories. Kalo made a deep chuffing sound, a territorial warning. Thymara had never heard any dragon make such a sound before but instantly recognized what it was. Baliper, who so seldom spoke, added, ‘Many a bloody battle was fought for a Silver seep. Dragons were less touched by humans then. We were different creatures. ’
‘A savage time,’ Mercor agreed, but he sounded almost wistful for such conflict. ‘We made few Elderlings then … only singers, I think. But some settled here, brought by their dragons. They made a little village. They did not go near the seeps or know of Silver. It was not for them. But then, after a quake much stronger than any we recalled, Silver rose in one of the human-dug wells. The first humans who discovered it died from touching it. But the dragons that ate their bodies became powerful of mind. It was a pure, true flow of Silver, much better than any we had ever tasted. All learned to drink long and deep of the pure Silver pulled up from that well. We began to speak with humans and to use the power of the Silver to shape them into forms more suitable to attend us. They became true Elderlings. From dragons, they gained the power of the Silver, and they built this place, a city for dragons and Elderlings to share. When another quake closed that well, our Elderlings found other sources for us. Some lasted a long time, while others failed quickly. I do not have a memory of how or when this Silver well was dug. But I do have ancestral recollection that once this well near brimmed with Silver.
‘Here a dragon could come and drink his fill. And that was well, for the Silver seeps grew less predictable and harder to find. At great risk to themselves, our Elderlings dug this well bigger and deeper, and built a kiosk to shelter the well. As the Silver receded, it became more and more difficult to bring it to the surface, but they found ways to manage it. Wells were made deeper, this one in particular. The Silver from this well seemed to ebb and flow with the seasons, sometimes shallow, sometimes flowing. Other, lesser Silver wells in this area eventually went dry. But this one remained, always, and so it became our treasure. ’
Mercor paused. Thymara heard only the breathing of dragons and Elderlings and the distant whispering of the river. He spoke again. ‘We were not the only dragons then. There were others, but without the pure Silver, they were not clear-minded as we were. Sometimes, they were little better than the lions and bears they hunted in their own lands. When we encountered them, in mating flights or migrations to the warm lands, they could smell the Silver on us. They wanted it. And sometimes they followed us back here, to the source, but we stood them off. They came, sometimes in droves, but always we prevailed against them and sent them back to their own regions.
‘As Kelsingra prospered, we made many Elderlings, to tend the wells for us, and to make places of warmth and comfort for us in the winter season. And to help us guard this, the best source of Silver in the world. And so our city grew around it. The Elderlings quarried stone that had threads of silver running through it, and found many uses for it for themselves. We used Silver to change our Elderlings, and in turn, they used what they learned from us to change this part of the world. The Silver remains here, in threads in the stones, and it speaks to us of those days. But dragons cannot drink stone. And if this well has failed, and we have found no more seeps …’
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‘Why do dragons need Silver?’ Sylve spoke her quiet question.
Her dragon swung his large head to look at her. Black on black, his eyes spun in the torchlight. Thymara felt that he spoke with reluctance. ‘It extends our lives, just as we extend the lives of our Elderlings. It is a part of us, in our blood and in our venom and in the cases we weave as serpents for our transformation. That was why Cassarick was so important. The clay banks there have Silver in the sand. It cannot be drunk, but in our thread-spinning, it holds memories for us, in much the same way as the stones held memories for the Elderlings. It helps us to recall our ancestral memories as we pass from serpent to dragon. If the Silver is gone from the world, much of what dragons are will be gone also. We will continue, but I think our wealth of memories may be greatly shortened. Our minds will dim. And our lifespans dwindle. ’ He lowered his voice and added, ‘As will our ability to shape Elderlings. ’
The great golden dragon turned to look down on Malta and Reyn. As always, Malta carried her bundled baby against her chest as if she were a child and he her dearest doll. Even in the cold of night, she would not part from him. Did she think he could not die if she held him close? Mercor spoke words that drove all colour from her face. ‘If Tintaglia ever returns, she will need Silver to change your child to a creature that can survive. All our lives depend on Silver, in one way or another. ’
‘No. Noooo!’ Malta drew out the word in a low cry and then turned to her husband, folding herself into his arms and sheltering the child between them.
Anxiety rippled Sylve’s brow and she reached out a sympathetic hand to touch her dragon’s face. ‘Mercor, if there is any Silver to be had in any way, I will get it for you. ’
‘I know,’ the dragon responded calmly. ‘That is what Elderlings do. But I will warn you that it is at peril of your life that you touch Silver. Dragons may drin
k of it, but any touch of it on human skin is a precursor to a slow death. Only some of the Elderlings mastered it. At a cost. ’ He fell silent for a time, musing, and no one ventured to speak.
Malta lifted her bowed head. Tears tinged pink with blood showed on her face. ‘But you said I had been touched with Silver. If that is so, how is it that I am not dead?’
The dragon shook his great golden head slowly. ‘Elderlings found a way, but I do not recall the details of it. They could touch it and wear it on their hands to work their magic. It gave intent to stone, and spoke to wood and pottery and metal, bidding it be a certain shape or react in a given way. And those things did as the Elderlings bade them. They made doorways from it, entries of stone that they used to travel to their other cities. They created buildings that stayed warm in the winter. They made roads that always remembered they were roads and did not allow plants to break them. The most powerful of them sometimes used Silver to transform themselves at death, going into the statues they made to preserve a strange sort of life for themselves.
‘Sometimes they used Silver to heal, to recall for the body how it should be and help it to make itself right. Their own skill with the uses of Silver contributed to their long lifespans. If an Elderling still existed with such a great level of skill with the Silver, he might even be able to heal your child. Magical creatures, those ancient beings were. But perhaps their time is past, not to come again. And perhaps so it is with dragons. ’
‘Don’t say that!’ Sylve cried and flung herself against his flank. She was not the only keeper to stand with brimming eyes. Had they come so far to fail?
