Dragon Talker (21 page)

“How do you know they chewed it off?”

“Um…the scabs?” Hental suddenly wasn’t sure if he was right.

Selma smiled, “It could be, Hental. You are a good little shepherd. Are there blisters anywhere?”

“I didn’t see any.” Hental paused and thought about it, “No, no blisters. I woulda saw them. And they are hot to touch.”

“They are fighting something, then. Not just allergies. What,” she asked, looking at him carefully, “are we going to do?”

Hental knew this was a test and he did not want to fail. “Check their poop?”

“Always wise. I knew there was a reason I liked you, Hental. What else?” She didn’t move in her chair, but Hental could practically see her thoughts moving in her head, thoughts like: is this boy smart enough to care for the goats? Has he been paying attention or just running around? Is he still a boy or is he becoming a man?

He didn’t want to disappoint her, and he also had the feeling that if she was proud of him, his father would be, too. His father never had anything but appreciative words to say about Selma, even when others criticized her for one thing or another. “Well,” Hental was both going back in his mind thinking of what Selma had done in the past. “We should make a bath and add Yarrow for them to soak in.”

“Very good, Hental. Yarrow is great for fevers. What about the sores?” she asked.

“That’s easy, make a chamomile poultice. My mom does that all the time when we get cuts.” Hental was smiling.

“I think you are going to be an excellent herder, Hental.”

Hental shook his head. “I don’t know, I just like goats.”

“That,” smiled Selma, “is the first requirement of a good herder.” She paused. Hental wasn’t sure why. Finally, she sighed and said, “You know where I keep everything, so get to work on making that poultice, and instead of a bath for the two, let’s make it a strong tea they can drink. If you weren’t using the poultice, I’d do the bath. The two can work really well together, get it from both sides.”

Hental was a little confused. He had thought more was going on besides deciding on treatment. Still, Selma was often hard to figure out. She did things her own way and wasn’t afraid to go against tradition, common sense, or the will of other villagers
. And
, he thought
, she’s almost always right when she does
. That thought both put a smile on his face and then he also felt a wave of sadness, knowing that she would not be around for much longer. He didn’t say any of this; he didn’t know how, so he went to work making the poultice instead.

After making the chamomile poultice, Hental headed out to apply it to the two goats. Selma followed him out and stayed outside the pen, watching Hental and encouraging him. “Don’t just charge in there like a momma boar protecting her young, Hental. Let them know you are here to help. It isn’t just the medicine a shepherd gives that helps a goat heal, it’s the shepherd, too.”

“I know,” Hental replied, faking exasperation. In reality, he was going to head straight in, grab a goat, and apply the medicine, whether they were ready for it or liked it. He slowed his gait and went to Primrose first. “Hey Fuzzy Face,” he said gently. “I have some medicine here to make you feel better.” He put it under her nose so she could smell it. “I’m going to put it on your sores and you’ll start feeling better, I promise.”

He set the batch of poultice down. With one hand, he patted Primrose’s head gently. With the other, he started carefully covering her wounds with the poultice. Primrose continued to lie still during the entire process. When he was done, Hental leaned down and kissed her on the head. “You’ll be okay. I’ll bring some good tea to drink later.”

As Selma watched, Hental repeated the process with Willow. “You’re doing a good job, Hental. Remember a sick animal is an extra sensitive animal.”

“Okay,” Hental replied, thinking to himself,
I know that
, but also adjusting the way he was applying the poultice to Willow. He was slower and light to the touch.

“That’s it,” Selma said, “Goats aren’t people. You can’t think as if they are a person, but always move to thinking like them. They aren’t shaped like us, they don’t eat like us, and they don’t understand words. It’s all tone and action, Hental, tone and action.”

“I know,” replied Hental, even as he made a mental note to remember: animals don’t understand words. They get tone and action. Then, Hental had an unexpected insight about animals.
They talk through tone and action
. He actually paused as he had that thought. This was a new idea. Of course he could tell when some animals were angry, hissing, growling, swooping down at him, but he hadn’t thought about telling their other emotions.

Just as quickly as this thought entered his mind, another jumped in. He knew Oak, or Dragon Butt, was sick. The pink spots flashed in his mind, which was the most obvious sign, but the goat also didn’t rush him as he entered. Pointing at the goat had never worked before and Hental realized it didn’t work this time either.

“I think Dra…Oak is sick, too,” he told Selma.

“Let’s take a look, then.”

This ought to be a fun time
, Hental thought sarcastically. He never got along with Oak and could only imagine how difficult the goat would be when it was not feeling good. He whispered conspiratorially to Willow, “Now I’ll go do the same with ol’ Dragon Butt.”

Louder, he stood up and said, “Okay, Oak, it is your turn.” Walking into the pen, he thought about Oak. Oak was cranky, stubborn, and liked to fight
. No wonder Selma liked him
, Hental thought,
he’s like her
. Then he heard Selma’s earlier words run through his head: tone and action, tone and action. He knew the tone immediately, firm. Anything else would just lead to trouble. That was the only tone that worked on him, besides with his mother, and he knew his relationship to Oak was anything but motherly.

Before getting too close, Hental tried to think about being a goat.
You’re stupid
, he thought,
but can see what’s coming
. He knew that, and was almost ready to consider they weren’t as stupid as he thought, but not quite yet. “So, how are you today, Oak?” he asked cautiously. As he did, he looked him over. There were red spots on his side, the ones he saw earlier.
Now, if I was a goat,
he thought,
side sores aren’t that big a deal, but I wouldn’t want them touched. My little goat armpits, though, sores there would slow me down. Is that why you didn’t charge me today?

Oak was not moving as he approached.
Yeah, something’s wrong with you all right
. He called over his shoulder to Selma, “He’s sick, too.” Hental stopped, turned around, and headed back to the smaller pen. “I’m going to put some of the poultice on his side before I move him, so he trusts me.”

Selma smiled. There were adults in the village that would be more than happy to have and take care of her goats after she died. She didn’t like most of them. Still, she wasn’t about to give them to a boy just out of spite, even a boy she liked like Hental. She knew Hental had a temper and a stubborn streak, two things she liked, but before she would put her goats in his charge, she needed to know that he had really learned all the things she had been informally teaching him.

Hental didn’t know, would never know, that the night before, Selma had rubbed a poison ivy extract on these three particular goats. She knew he would take care of Primrose because she was his favorite. What she was most interested in how he would treat the weakest, Willow, and the one he didn’t like, Oak. She gave out a little laugh, thinking how mad Hental would be if he knew she did this. It was one of the reasons she picked him two years ago to start helping with the herd. His father hadn’t been sure, but he trusted her and was also one of the few adults in the village she had any tolerance for.

She turned her attention back to Hental as he finished putting the poultice on Oak. She watched him get down on all four to look under Oak, keeping one hand up between Oak’s head and his, just in case Oak got any ideas about butting him while he was down there. She asked, “What are you thinking?”

“How to move him,” Hental replied. “If I pick him up, I’ll end up rubbing his sores. Walking will rub the sores, too.” Selma could see the wheels turning in Hental’s head. “How can I move him without picking him up or having him walk?” Hental stood up and put his hand on Oak’s head in both a comforting and self-protective gesture. Looking around, Hental saw a few planks leaning against the wall of the hut and smile. “I got it,” he said confidently.

Selma realized what he was going to do. She would have just carried the goat to the other pen, little pain goes along with living, but she was impressed with both Hental’s unexpected sensitivity and his willingness to apply it to a goat she knew he called Dragon Butt. “Hental, once you are done, we are going to talk about your future.”

Hental was on his way to pick up one of the boards and said, “Okay, after I get done here.” He had no idea the course of his life was about to lock into place.

Chapter 33  

“It’s time you earned your keep,” Xeron told Tail Biter in a tone that showed he had not quite forgiven him for his dereliction of duty. Tail Biter’s ears bent flat against his head. “Knock it off,” Xeron scolded in reply.

Xeron continued, “I do not want to run all over this chateau questioning these obvious simpletons. I want you to find me someone who wants to leave this place.” Tail Biter turned to start looking. “Hold on, Biter, let me give you a little magical assistance so you don’t end up running to the cook or butcher.”

It didn’t take magic to know when a person didn’t belong or didn’t want to belong to a place. Careful observation and an understanding of human nature was enough, but Xeron did not want to spend a few weeks to figure it out on his own. When it came to understanding people, magic was the catalyst that acted as time. Xeron put his hand on Tail Biter’s brown leather collar. This is where he liked to place temporary spells. Certain magics cancel each other out or expand or bend magic in unexpected ways. When the magic he placed in the collar started acting strange, he simply replaced the collar. Problem solved.

The power and longevity of magic depends on a variety of factors. The power of the mage, the design of the spell, and the medium of the spell were the three most important factors for this one. Xeron knew, after the tapping of deep magic at the castle, that he had more power then he understood. The spell, one that would illuminate anyone who desired to leave the chateau in Tail Biter’s mind, was an easy enough spell. Most magicians spend a lot of their earlier time working with desire - shaping, changing, encouraging, and discouraging it in others. Leather was a sturdy material, which means that it holds magic well, and a complete garment seems to hold magic best. That is why a magician’s coat can be so dangerous or why magicians like to enchant a person’s clothes just as often as they enchant the person. The beauty of a collar, Xeron had found, is that by unhooking it, breaking the circle and it’s wholeness, magic often evaporated on its own accord.

“
Od lechim, od sercem, do desirem
.” Xeron let go of the collar. Tail Biter was now primed to find a person who held a heartfelt desire to flee the chateau. He could see Tail Biter’s legs twitching in anticipation. Any spell that had a requirement to search for something had this effect. Running and sniffing, naturally or magically, were not things the dog needed much encouragement to do. Xeron smiled, “Go!”

Tail Biter was gone in a flash. While he waited, Xeron started making plans. As he did, he quickly realized Perante was not a part of them, besides getting far enough away from him that he could work in peace.
And work I have to do
, he thought.
This magic I tapped into is nothing I know or have heard about. What does it mean? What does it make possible? If Perante comes near me, I’ll do my best to kill him, but if he leaves me alone, I’ll do the same.
He absently rubbed the top of his hand where the little nick had become a large wound.
For now
, he added.

There were some items that would make his travels easier, and he went about collecting them. The first was a horse. The chateau had a small stable and Xeron checked out the stock. He looked for a healthy horse physically as well as in temperament. A horse with attitude can be a great ally if one is going into dangerous situations, but a major pain if the task is simply to travel from one place to another. He was not looking for trouble; in fact, he was looking for the exact opposite, peace.

Out of the four horses in the stable, he walked up to a chestnut colored horse and put his hand on its muzzle. “How about you, my friend, would you like to go for a walk?” The horse snorted in reply and took a step forward, pushing its head into his hands. “Okay, you are friendly. I like that in a horse. Dealing with people,” he confided, “can be tedious.” The horse nodded its head. Xeron cocked his head and checked the horse for magic. It was clear, which meant its responses had been based on his tone and whatever else was going through the horse’s mind. “Don’t pretend you understand everything, it’s annoying.” He rubbed the spot above his nose. “I’ll be back soon.”

Transportation decided, he realized Perante may have protected his property. He corrected himself, Perante definitely would protect his property. While the horse was clear, he would have to be careful as he left. At some point, he would most likely come across a barrier meant to keep Perante’s animals and possessions close to the chateau. He made a mental note to pick up any plants or objects that may be useful dealing with protective magic and to check the saddle and reins before using them.

Hungry, he headed for the kitchen. The few people he passed were friendly and quiet. Xeron was tempted to stop one and see what kind of magic, if any, was involved in their behavior. He didn’t, though, because that would most likely find its way back to Perante, and he didn’t want to give him any more information about himself if he could help it. A cook was in the kitchen working over a large pot hanging over the fire in the fireplace.