Heart's Blood

by Jane Yolen

  Jakkin couldn't hear anyone else nearby, especially with Kkarina moaning so loudly. "Where is everybody?" It was unusual for only four people to have been in the dining room for breakfast.

  At that, oddly, Kkarina flung her apron over her head and began wailing even louder.

  "Be quiet, woman!" warned Likkarn, before looking down at the boy he was carrying. "We'll talk of that other later. Right now we have something more important to do."

  But Slakk, as always, had to be first with bad news. "Jakkin, they're all off to The Rokk to help find Akki."

  "What do you mean, find her? Is she gone?" Jakkin thought his voice no longer sounded like his own.

  "Taken," groaned Kkarina. "Someone's gone and taken her!"

  Jakkin had never felt so cold before. He could hardly think. Have the trogs gotten Akki? Not in the city, surely? Dragged her from the truck? It doesn't make sense. Still...

  "We've got to go."

  Likkarn glared at him. After a thoughtful moment, he said, "We've got three things to do first, and then I'll drive you there myself."

  Distracted, Jakkin asked, "What three things?"

  Peeling the apron from her face, Kkarina answered, "Why, we have to clean thee up, boy, and then feed thee up." She spoke to him as if he were a dragon. "And we have to bury this poor child." She put her palm against Errikkin's cold cheek.

  "But—"

  "There's many a nurseryman already gone to the city to look for Akki at Golden's call," Kkarina said, her voice suddenly calm, nothing remaining of the wail. "All of ours but the ones you see here. We needed some to keep the nursery going. What can you add that's not already being done?"

  "I can hear her in here..." murmured Jakkin, touching his head. Then he stopped.

  Likkarn nodded. "So can we all."

  Heeding the implicit warning in what Likkarn said, Jakkin allowed himself to be led to the showers by Balakk, where the water first ran blood-red and then clear. But his mind remained bloody. Now he realized how bruised he was. He could see the purple and yellow of the older bruises on his wrists, and newer, blacker ones on his legs and arms. He supposed there were more along his back. Possibly some on his face. None of that mattered, of course. Finding Akki was the most important thing.

  ***

  LATER, IN THE dining hall, Jakkin managed to gulp down a boiled lizard egg and two quick cups of tea, including one made of yellow dickory. Kkarina insisted it helped with bruises.

  "It better," Jakkin muttered, "because it tastes too awful for just drinking."

  They all finished eating in record time, serving themselves. Kkarina had been occupied with washing Errikkin's body on a long table in the bondhouse kitchen. Alone, she'd put the oil at the back of his hands and on his feet. Then she dressed him in clean clothes.

  They assembled in the small cemetery, Jakkin, Balakk, and the two young women carrying the spikka-wood casket. It was heavier than Jakkin had expected and had no name etched into the top. There hadn't been time.

  "Twice in a week," Kkarina said, wiping her eyes with her apron. "Bad things come in threes, I shouldn't wonder."

  She means Akki. Jakkin shuddered before grabbing hold of one of the two shovels. Balakk used the other, and they quickly dug a grave in the soft sandy soil under the weeping wilkkins.

  As they lowered the casket, Vonikka started up the old hymn they'd sung for Arakk's burial:

  Oh, God, who sends the double moons,

  Who spreads the singing sand...

  The others joined in a thin, ragged chorus, but not Jakkin. Too fast, too fast. He meant the burial had been pushed ahead too fast, knowing Errikkin would have hated the rush, would have wanted the entire nursery there. But Likkarn said they had no idea when the others would be back from the search for Akki, and—as Jakkin well knew—in a hot desert world, all bodies had to be buried as soon as possible.

  He hardly listened to Likkarn speak of Errikkin's bravery, how in death he'd found himself. Jakkin couldn't concentrate on Likkarn's voice, the way it broke during its delivery, so unlike him. Already Jakkin's mind was turned to The Rokk.

  We've spent too much time already. He grimaced. I should have killed those pieces of worm waste sooner.

  ***

  ONLY JAKKIN and Likkarn rode in the truck, heading at breakneck speed toward The Rokk. Everyone else was needed to keep the nursery going.

  "Besides, I'm the only one of that lot who can drive," said Likkarn as they barreled along the road.

  Drive was too kind a word for what Likkarn was attempting. With his right arm bound up by Kkarina, he had to drive left-handed. The truck seemed to keep careening from one side of the road to the other. Luckily, no one was in the opposite lane most of the time, but even so, Jakkin held himself rigid as they went along.

  However, on the approach to Krakkow the road began to fill up and Likkarn's erratic steering earned them blaring horns and many hand gestures that purported to show how big the fewmets were that they resembled.

  Jakkin stopped himself from returning the hand signs and kept his right hand on the door handle, his left on the dashboard hold-bar. He was ready to grab the steerer if need be. It was not easy riding with Likkarn.

  "What about those invaders?" Likkarn asked. It was the first he'd spoken of the attack. "Their bodies."

  "I told Balakk they needed burying. Told him no coffins needed."

  Likkarn houghed like a dragon. "What did he say to that?"

  "Not much. Just that he wasn't considering it."

  Likkarn houghed again.

  "I told him they were odd-looking thieves," Jakkin added. "And that there was one more drowned in the oasis, out beyond the weir."

  "Hah!" Likkarn said.

  Jakkin didn't wonder at his response. Balakk had answered, "Out where you trained your young red?" which had surprised him. But Balakk said he knew about the oasis from Likkarn, who'd been told by Sarkkhan, who—Jakkin thought—presumably had learned about it from Akki.

  Akki. It all came back to her.

  "Hah!" Likkarn said again, but Jakkin ignored him.

  All Jakkin wanted was to be in The Rokk looking for Akki.

  As they careened along, he sent Akki colorful images, but there was no response. Nonetheless, he was sure that once in the big city, he would find her. He had to find her.

  ***

  LEAVING KRAKKOW, Jakkin finally asked Likkarn, "What really has happened to Akki?" It was a question he'd been afraid to ask. Then needed to ask. But once they'd gotten started in the truck, Likkarn's driving had kept him from asking anything at all, lest the questions take any more of Likkarn's attention off the road. But after they had reached Krakkow, the questions just seemed to fall out of Jakkin's mouth. "Where is she? Is she all right? Has she been hurt?"

  Likkarn turned his head and stared at Jakkin.

  "The road!" Jakkin cried, pointing. "Watch the worm-eaten road!"

  The truck had drifted dangerously into the oncoming lane, which was now filled with traffic. A horn blared. Then another.

  Likkarn jerked the wheel and the truck swerved drunkenly back into its lane, shuddering with the effort. The old man seemed undisturbed by the wobbles. "Golden sent a driver and a big van, asking for help. Seems Akki went missing after an evening debate."

  "A debate? What debate?" Jakkin asked, adding quickly, "Watch the road."

  Another swing of the wheel, another shuddering of the truck. Jakkin decided not to ask any more questions, but just let Likkarn talk.

  "Golden's running again for senator. He was on a panel debating with other candidates."

  Jakkin knew little of politics and cared even less, especially after having been taken advantage of in The Rokk by the rebels a year earlier.

  "Afterward, he and Dr. Henkky stayed to shake hands and have drinks with their followers. Akki and another girl, who works for Golden, left to go back to the house. Someone shot—"

  "Shot? With a gun? Is it Akki?"

  The truck did its lane-to-lane dance befo
re Likkarn yanked it under control again.

  "Shot the other girl. She's still in a hospice. He winged the hatchling."

  Then, it wasn't trogs, after all. They know nothing about guns. Jakkin wasn't sure if this was good news or bad.

  Likkarn said, "And then he kidnapped Akki."

  "Kidnapped!" He'd heard of it before. Maybe kidnapped was better than just taken. Usually the kidnapper wanted money and then let the victim go once the money was paid. "How much does he want?" Not that he had any money, but Golden surely did.

  "Golden thinks it's not for money but to make him pull out of the race, though they hadn't been contacted last I heard."

  "When..." Jakkin had to know. "When was that?"

  "The night after the day she left."

  That makes it the night I slept in the hollow of the tree. Why, oh why hadn't I just kept going. Or left earlier. Or ...

  Likkarn's hand on the wheel was so tight, the knuckles turned white. "Stomach. Sorry. Got to pull over for a minute," he said, and they jounced onto the grainy shoulder of the road, plowing down a line of small green plants that had hardly managed to poke their heads above the sand.

  They both climbed out; Likkarn slid down over the sandy brow of the road, disappearing from sight to relieve himself. Jakkin remained by the truck, simply happy to be free of the crazy driving for a minute. But all the while his head whirled with worry about Akki. Who could have taken her? Was she being well treated? And he couldn't stop recalling what Kkarina had said: "Bad things come in threes, I shouldn't wonder."

  As the old bonder struggled back over the brow, his feet slipped in the sand, and Jakkin offered him a hand.

  "Thanks," Likkarn mumbled.

  "No—thank you."

  Likkarn looked puzzled. "Not for driving, surely. You'll have noticed that I'm not..."

  They got back into the truck and Jakkin said, "At least you can drive. But my thanks is for helping me back at the incubarn without question, without argument..."

  Likkarn put his head to one side as if considering something.

  "I know you've never liked me," Jakkin continued, "but ... but that's the second time you've saved me. And now we're off to save Akki together."

  Likkarn's lips were set in a thin line. Then he said without preamble, "I didn't want to muck it up again, like I did with your father."

  "You knew my father?" Jakkin was so astonished, for a moment he couldn't think of a response. All these years, Likkarn had known his father and had never said anything. Jakkin didn't know if he was furious or ... excited.

  "He was my..." Likkarn took a breath, his face suddenly gone white. "He was my brother." As if to stop any further conversation, he turned quickly to look behind them, checked the traffic, rammed the truck back onto the road.

  "Your brother?" Jakkin repeated in disbelief. The truck was wobbling across lanes again. Horns were barking at them. Jakkin had to shout to make himself heard. "My father's brother?"

  "Half-brother, actually." Likkarn eased off the pedal and brought the truck back into their lane, and everything seemed to settle down. "We were fifteen years apart. And when our mother died, and I was left to bring him up, I was ... well, I wasn't very good at it. And I hated doing it. He was very charming, funny. I let him get away with things I shouldn't have, and then I got mad at him for getting away with them."

  Charming? Funny? Jakkin tried to remember his father and could only remember him angry and unhappy.

  Likkarn continued. "I wanted to raise dragons, which he hated. So when I got taken on by Master Sarkkhan, instead of coming with me, he ran off and I didn't look for him. Good riddance, I thought."

  "To your brother?"

  Likkarn took quite some time before he answered. "Well, I said I wasn't good at it. He went to the city, failed at a couple of things there. Met your mother, who was the daughter of Master Ortran, a dragon master with a big nursery not far from The Rokk, and charmed her into marrying him."

  My mother. Jakkin only remembered big eyes and a lot of sadness.

  Likkarn went on. "They had you. Then—knowing nothing about dragons, only knowing that his big brother worked with them and his wife's father trained them—he tried to capture and raise a feral in order to impress us all. And..." Likkarn's hand was once again white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

  "And it killed him."

  "I believed for the longest time that I had killed him," Likkarn said. "At least your mother told me so."

  Jakkin shook his head. "Any nurseryman knows better than to try to tame a feral by himself. She was wrong. You didn't kill him."

  Likkarn's cheeks were suddenly flushed, and the old blood scores on his face looked like deep pits. There was something red and angry in his mind, too, and it trickled out to Jakkin.

  Jakkin rocked back, remembering the last time he'd been able to go into Likkarn's mind. Maybe I can do it because we're related by blood.

  "Your mother didn't like me, of course. Fewmets! I didn't like me. I was smoking a lot of weed and wort then. She put herself in bond rather than ask her father for help. When she was dying—of a broken heart, I believed then and still do—she begged me to keep an eye on you because I was family. Family! I couldn't think of a worse person to have asked."

  The truck wobbled again and a man leaned out of his van window to shout at Likkarn.

  "To you, too!" Jakkin yelled as the van sped by.

  Likkarn paid attention to neither the van driver nor Jakkin. It was clear that he was determined to finish the story he'd started so as never to have to refer to it again. "I decided to be hard on you because I wasn't hard enough on your father. And..." He leaned forward, glaring through the truck's front window as if something out there could save him from the last bits of his story. "And I nearly got you killed twice."

  Jakkin unlocked his left hand from the dash bar and patted Likkarn's forearm. It was like steel, corded and tight. "No, Likkarn, I almost got you killed twice. You were the one who saved me."

  Likkarn's shoulders seemed to have relaxed a bit, but his hand on the wheel was still tense.

  "But now we have to go and save Akki," Jakkin said softly.

  Likkarn gave a quick sideways glance, then once more stared out of the window. "They know the man who grabbed her. He was the driver of the car that took them all to the debate. Both car and driver are missing. Still, if we're lucky, by the time we get to The Rokk, she'll already have been found."

  "If we were lucky, Uncle Likkarn, we'd never have landed in this mess."

  Likkarn started to laugh.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Calling me Uncle."

  "Sorry, I won't do it again." The old man's laughter was so unusual, Jakkin found himself joining in. "Laughing, that's something families can share." He clapped his hand on Likkarn's arm.

  "That and tragedy." Likkarn's sending was barely audible, but undeniably there.

  "You can ..." Jakkin didn't dare say further.

  "Sometimes," Likkarn said. "But only with Heart's Ease and, it seems, you."

  "When did you first know?"

  "Her first try at egg-laying. Things were going badly. The eggs weren't coming out. The doctor was at another farm. I was afraid of losing her, so I cut her open and pulled the eggs out by hand. The blood burned. I screamed. She screamed. And her voice was in my head, telling me what to do."

  Jakkin nodded. "Akki and I sheltered in Heart's Blood's egg chamber to keep warm during Dark-After. And then we could hear dragons, too." He didn't say anything more, but supposed that Likkarn— Uncle Likkarn—could guess.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. Jakkin dozed, dreamed, woke drenched in sweat, and dozed again. He didn't remember what he dreamed, but clearly it was awful. And Likkarn stayed out of his head the whole way there.

  35

  IF JAKKIN had been nervous about Likkarn's driving on the great double-laned road, he should have been terrified by the old man's maneuvering through the small mazed streets of The Rokk. But Jakkin
was paying little attention as to how they clipped the occasional sidewalk or scraped by the occasional pole. Instead he totally concentrated on sendings to Akki.

  For him, every new turning was an opportunity, bumps and all.

  He sent the same thing over and over, a bright red heart embroidered with burning wort. And her name, with the message, "I am here. I am here. Where are you?"

  But there was nothing sent back. He didn't know what that meant. Is she hurt? Too far away? Or... No, he wouldn't think about that, though Kkarina's voice came back again, and now it really haunted him: "Bad things come in threes, I shouldn't wonder."

  "We're getting close to Golden's house," said Likkarn, breaking through Jakkin's bleak thoughts. "It's somewhere around here."

  "That's the best you can do— somewhere?"

  "Well, at least I know we can't drive right to the door. I'll park, and we'll find it together. Number seventeen."

  Jakkin stopped listening to Likkarn because there was suddenly a small, thin, weak sending threading into his head. It was a ragged strand, a burnt-orange color. "Here."

  At first Jakkin's heart thudded in his chest. But then he realized: It's not Akki.

  "Dragon!" he said aloud, which startled Likkarn into glancing at him so that the truck jumped onto the sidewalk, nosed a pole, and stopped.

  Likkarn pulled up the brake as if the sidewalk had been his actual goal, then turned off the engine. "Where?"

  Jakkin rolled down the window and looked up at the sky. It was a blank blue slate. He tried sending again, this time to the dragon. "I am here. Where are you?" It was a picture of the street lined in red and gold.

  "Here. Here."

  "Where's here?" Likkarn asked, startling Jakkin, who was going to have to get used to the old man's ability to listen in on some of his inner conversations.

  The landscape sent back to them looked a lot like the oasis, and Jakkin cursed, thinking that couldn't be right. The oasis was miles and hours behind them. He turned to Likkarn. "Is there an oasis nearby? You know—water, trees, reeds."

  "You mean like Sukker's Marsh? Don't be stupid, boy. This is a city. We're right by Golden's house. There." He pointed down a street that had small trees and large houses.