Rain Wilds Chronicles (128 page)

“And that fascinates you still?”

“No! At the time, it always seemed as if he had extraordinary luck. Now, when I look back, I see him as being very good at shifting the blame. And I let him. Often. So I'm not really thinking of Hest. I'm thinking about my life back in Bingtown, about who he made me . . . or rather who I let myself become.” Sedric shrugged. “I'm not proud of who I became when I was with Hest. Not proud of things I planned to do, or the ones I did. But in some ways, I'm still that person. And I don't know how to change.”

Carson gave him a sideways glance, his smile broad. “Oh, you've changed. Trust me on that, laddie. You've changed quite a bit.”

They'd reached the eaves of the forest. The bare-leaved trees at the outer edges did little to break the incessant rain. There were evergreens a bit higher up the hill, offering more shelter, but there were more dead and fallen branches for firewood here.

Carson halted near a grove of ash trees. He produced two long leather straps, each with a loop at the end. Sedric took his, muffling a sigh. He reminded himself of two things: when he worked, he did stay warmer, and when he kept pace with Carson, he gained more respect for himself.
Be a man,
he told himself, and he shook the strap out into a loop on the ground as Carson had taught him. Carson had already begun to gather faggots and place them on the strap. The big man sometimes cracked a branch over his thigh to break it down to a manageable size. Sedric had tried that; it left remarkable bruises on him, ones that made Carson wince just to look at. He hadn't attempted it since then.

“I need to come back with the axe and take down a couple of those fir trees. Big ones. We can fell them and let them dry for a season, and next year we'll chop them up and have some good long-burning logs. Something more substantial than these, something that will burn all night.”

“That would be good,” Sedric agreed without enthusiasm. More backbreaking work. And thinking about firewood for next year made him realize that next year he'd probably still be here. Still living in a cottage, eating meat cooked over a fire, and wearing Sa knew what for clothes. And the year after. And the year after. Would he spend his life here, grow old here? Some of the other keepers had said that the changes the dragons were putting them through would make them into Elderlings, with vastly extended life spans. He glanced at the fish-fine scaling on the back of his wrists. One hundred years here? Living in a little cottage and caring for his eccentric dragon. Would that be his life? Once Elderlings had been legendary creatures to him, elegant and lovely beings who lived in wondrous cities full of magic. The Elderling artifacts that the Rain Wilders had discovered as they dug up the buried cities had been mystical: jewels that gleamed with their own light, and perfume gems, each with its own sweet scent. Carafes that chilled whatever was put into them. Jidzin, the magical metal that woke to light at a touch. Wonderful wind chimes that played endlessly varying harmonies and tunes. Stone that held memories that one could share by touching . . . so many amazing things had belonged to the Elderlings. But they were long gone from the world. And if Sedric and the other keepers were to be their heirs, they would indeed be the poor branch of the family, allied with dragons who could scarcely fly and bereft of Elderling magic. Like the crippled dragons of this generation, the Elderlings they created would be poor and stunted things, eking out an existence in primitive surroundings.

A gust of wind shook down a shower of drops from the naked tree branches above him. He brushed them off his trousers with a sigh. The cloth had worn thin, and the cuffs were frayed to dangling threads. “I need new trousers.”

Carson reached out a calloused hand to rumple his wet hair. “You need a hat, too,” he observed casually.

“And what shall we make that out of? Leaves?” Sedric tried to sound amused rather than bitter. Carson. He did have Carson. And would not he rather live in a primitive world with Carson than in a Bingtown mansion without him?

“No. Bark.” Carson sounded pragmatic. “If we can find the right sort of tree. There was one merchant in Trehaug who used to beat tree bark into fibers and then weave them. She treated some of them with pitch to make them waterproof. She made hats and I think cloaks. I never bought one, but given our circumstances now, I'm ready to try anything. I don't think I've a whole shirt or pair of trousers left to my name.”

“Bark,” Sedric echoed gloomily. He tried to imagine what such a hat would look like and decided he'd rather go bareheaded. “Maybe Captain Leftrin can bring fabric back from Cassarick. I think I can manage with what I've got until then.”

“Well, we'll have to, so it's good that you think we can.” Such a remark from Hest would have been scathing sarcasm. From Carson, it was shared amusement at the hardships they would endure together.

For a moment they both fell silent, musing. Carson had amassed a substantial bundle of wood. He pulled the strap tight around the sticks and hefted it experimentally. Sedric added a few more sticks to his and regarded the pile with dread. The bundle was going to be heavy, and the sticks would poke him and his back would ache tonight. Again. And here came Carson with
more
sticks, helpfully increasing the size of his pile. Sedric tried to think of something positive. “But when Leftrin returns from Cassarick, won't he be bringing us more clothing in his supplies?”

Carson added the sticks he'd brought to the stack and wrapped the strap around it. He spoke as he tightened it. “A lot will depend on if the Council members give him all the money they owe him. I expect they'll drag their feet. Even if they pay him, what he can bring back is going to be limited to what he can buy in Cassarick and maybe in Trehaug. Food will come first, I think. Then supplies like tar and lamp oil and candles and knives and hunting arrows. All the things that help us survive on our own. Blankets and fabric and suchlike will come last. Woven goods are always dear in Cassarick. No grazing lands in the swamps, so no sheep for wool. These meadows are one reason Leftrin was so excited about putting in an order for livestock from Bingtown. But we can expect livestock to take months to arrive, and Tarman will have to make a return trip for them.”

Captain Leftrin had gathered them for a meeting on the
Tarman
a few nights previously. He'd announced that he'd be making a run back down the river to Cassarick and Trehaug to buy as many supplies as they could afford. He'd report to the Rain Wild Traders' Council that they had accomplished their undertaking and he'd collect the monies owed them. If keepers wanted anything special from Cassarick, they could let him know and he'd try to get it for them. Two of the keepers had promptly said that their earnings should be sent to their families. Others wanted to send messages to kin. Rapskal had announced that he wished to spend all his money on sweets, sweets of any kind.

The laughter hadn't died down until Leftrin had asked if anyone wanted to be taken back to Trehaug. There had been a brief silence then as the dragon keepers had exchanged puzzled glances. Go back to Trehaug? Abandon the dragons they had bonded with and return to their lives as outcasts among their own people? If they had been shunned for their appearances when they left Trehaug, what would the other Rain Wilders think of them now? Their time among the dragons had not lessened their strangeness. Quite the opposite: they had grown more scales, more spines, and in the case of young Thymara, a set of gauzy wings. The dragons seemed to be guiding their changes now so that they were more aesthetically pleasing. Even so, most of the keepers had clearly left humanity behind. None of them could return to the lives they had known.

Alise had not bonded to a dragon and remained very human in appearance, but Sedric knew she would not return. There was nothing for her in Bingtown but disgrace. Even if Hest were willing to take her back, she would not return to that loveless sham of a marriage. Ever since he had confessed his own relationship with Hest to her, she had regarded her marriage contract with the wealthy Trader as void. She'd stay here in Kelsingra and wait for her grubby river captain to return. And even if Sedric could not understand what attracted her to the man, he was willing to admit that she seemed happier living in a stone hut with Leftrin than she had ever been in Hest's mansion.

And for himself?

He glanced over at Carson and for a moment just looked at him. The hunter was a big, bluff man, well kept in his own rough way. Stronger than Hest could ever be. Gentler than Hest would ever be.

When he thought about it, he too was happier living in a stone hut with Carson than he had ever been in Hest's mansion. No deceit left in his life. No pretense. And a little copper dragon who loved him. His longing for Bingtown faded.

“What are you smiling about?”

Sedric shook his head. Then he answered truthfully. “Carson, I'm happy with you.”

The smile that lit the hunter's face at the simple words was honest joy. “And I'm happy with you, Bingtown boy. And we'll both be happier tonight if we have this firewood stacked and ready.” Carson stooped, seized the strap of his bundle, and heaved it up onto his shoulder. He came back to his feet easily and waited for Sedric to do the same.

Sedric copied him, grunting as he hefted his own bundle onto his shoulder. He managed to remain upright only after taking two staggering steps to catch his balance. “Sa's breath, it's heavy!”

“Yes, it is.” Carson grinned at him. “It's twice what you could carry a month ago. Proud of you. Let's go.”

Proud of him
.

“I'm proud of myself,” Sedric muttered and fell into step behind him.

Day the 7th of the Hope Moon

Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

From Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug

To Reyall, Acting Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown

Dear nephew, greetings and good wishes to you.

Erek and I both counsel you to keep your temper in this matter. Do not let Kim provoke you to anger or to accusations we cannot prove. This is not the first time we have had unpleasant correspondence with him. I still believe that he rose to his post by bribery but as that would indicate he has friends on the Cassarick Council who confirmed his promotion, taking a complaint there may get us no results.

I still know a number of his journeymen, for they began their apprenticeships here with me in Trehaug. I will make a few quiet inquiries among them. In the meantime, you have been wise to pass the message on to your masters and defer the handling of it to them. Until your master status is confirmed, it is difficult for you to speak to Kim as an equal. Both Erek and I question the wisdom that assigned this difficult task to you.

For now, you have done all that can be expected of you in your position. Erek and I continue to have the highest confidence in your bird-handling abilities.

In kinder news, the two speckled swift birds that you sent to us as a wedding gift have selected mates here and begun to breed. I look forward to shipping some of their youngsters to you soon so that we may time their return flights. I have great enthusiasm for this project.

Erek and I are still discussing which of us will relocate permanently; it is a difficult question for us. At our ages, we desire to be wed quickly and quietly, but neither of our families seems so inclined. Pity us!

With affection and respect,

Aunt Detozi

Chapter Three

PATHWAYS

T
hymara had lived all her life in the Rain Wilds, but she had never experienced rain like this. In her childhood in Trehaug and Cassarick, the immense trees that populated the banks of the Rain Wild River had spread their many layers of canopy and shade over those tree-house cities. The driving rains of winter had been thwarted and diverted by the infinitude of leaves between her and the sky. Of course, they had blocked the direct sunlight as well, but Thymara had felt differently about that. If she wanted sunlight, she could climb for it. She could not recall that she had ever wished to feel the full onslaught of a rainstorm.

Here, she had no choice. The meadow that edged the river was not like the shadowy undergrowth of the Rain Wilds. Thick grasses grew hip- to shoulder-deep. Rather than being swampy, the earth was firm under her feet and salted with rocks, a bewildering array of hard chunks of different textures and colors. She often wondered where they all came from and how they had come to be here. Today the wind swept across the naked lands and slapped the unimpeded rain into her face and down her collar. Her worn clothes, weakened by too-frequent contact with the acidic waters of the Rain Wild River, were no protection. Limp and soaked, they clung to her skin. And she could look forward to being cold and wet all day. She rubbed her red, chilled hands together. It was hard enough to hunt well with the battered assortment of gear she had left. Numbed hands only made it harder.

She heard Tats coming before he caught up to her: the wet grass slapping against his legs and his hard breathing as he ran up behind her. She did not turn to him until he breathlessly called to her, “Going hunting? Want some help?”

“Why not? I could use someone to carry my kill back to the dragons.” She didn't mention what they both knew: that Carson didn't like any of them hunting alone. He claimed to have seen signs of big predators, ones that might be large enough to attack a human. “Large game usually attracts large predators,” he had said. “When you hunt, take a partner.” It was not so much that Carson had authority over them as that he had experience.

Tats grinned at her, his teeth white in his finely scaled face. “Oh. So you don't think I'm capable of bringing down meat that you'd have to help me drag back?”

She grinned back. “You're a good enough hunter, Tats. But we both know I'm better.”

“You were born to it. Your father taught you from the time you could teeter along a tree branch. I think I'm pretty good, for someone who came to it later.” He fell into step beside her. It was a bit awkward on the narrow trail. He bumped elbows with her as they walked, but he neither moved ahead of her nor fell back. As they entered the eaves of the forest, the meadow grasses grew shallower and then gave way to a layer of leaf mold and low-growing bushes. The trees cut the wind, for which Thymara was grateful. She bobbed her head in acceptance of Tats's compliment.

“You're a lot better than when we left Trehaug. And I think you may adapt to this ground hunting faster than I will. This place is so different from home.”

“Home,” he said, and she could not tell if the word was bitter or sweet to him. “I think this is home now,” he added, startling her.

She gave him a sideways glance as they continued to push forward through the brush. “Home? Forever?”

He thrust out his arm toward her and pushed up his sleeve, baring his scaled flesh. “I can't imagine going back to Trehaug. Not like this. You?”

She didn't need to flex her wings nor look at the thick black claws she'd had since birth. “If acceptance means home, then Trehaug was never home for me.”

She pushed regrets and thoughts of Trehaug aside. It was time to hunt. Sintara was hungry. Today Thymara wanted to find a game trail, a fresh one they hadn't hunted before. Until they struck one, it would be hard going. They were both breathing hard, but Tats was less winded than he would have been when they first left Trehaug. Life on the
Tarman
expedition had muscled and hardened all of them, she thought approvingly. And all of the keepers had grown, the boys achieving growth spurts that were almost alarming. Tats was taller now and his shoulders broader. His dragon was changing him, too. He alone of the keepers had been fully human in appearance when they had left Trehaug. He was offspring of the freed slave population that had immigrated to Trehaug during the war with Chalced, and his slavery as an infant had been clearly marked on his face with his former owner's tattoo. A spiderweb had been flung across his left cheek, while a small running horse had been inked beside his nose. Those had changed as his dragon had begun to scale him. The tattoos were stylized designs now, scales rather than ink under skin. His dark hair and dark eyes remained the same as they had always been, but she suspected that some of his height was due to his transformation to Elderling rather than being natural growth. His fingernails gleamed as green as Fente, his ill-tempered little queen dragon. When the light struck his skin, it woke green highlights on his scaling. He was leaf shadow and pine needle, the greens of her forest . . . She reined in her thoughts.

“So. You think you'll live out your life here?” It was a strange concept to her. She'd been at a bit of a loss since they'd achieved their goal of finding the city. When they all left Trehaug, they had signed contracts, acknowledging that their goal was to settle the dragons upriver. Finding the legendary city of Kelsingra had scarcely been mentioned. She'd taken the job to escape her old life. She'd thought no further in her plans than that. Now she ventured to picture herself living here forever. Never facing again the people who had made her an outcast.

The other half of that image was never going home again. She hadn't liked her mother; and it had been mutual. But she had been very close to her father. Would she never see him again? Would he never know she'd achieved her goal? No, that was a ridiculous thought. Captain Leftrin was going to make a supply run back to Cassarick. Once he arrived there, the news of their find would swarm out like gnats to every ear in the Rain Wilds. Her father would soon hear of it. Would he come here to see for himself? Would she, perhaps, go home to visit him? A night ago, at the meeting, Leftrin had asked if anyone wanted to go back to the city. A silence had fallen after his query. The keepers had looked at one another. Leave their dragons? Go back to Trehaug, to return to their lives as pariahs there? No. For the others, the answer had been easy.

It had been less easy for her. There were times when she
wanted to leave her dragon. Sintara was not the most endearing creature in the world. She ordered Thymara about, exposed her to danger for her own amusement, and once had nearly drowned her in the river in her haste to get a fish. Sintara had never apologized for that. The dragon was as sarcastic and cynical as she was magnificent. But even if Thymara was considering abandoning her dragon, she did not want to get back on the
Tarman
and go downriver. She was still sick of being on the barge and of the endless journeying in close quarters. Going back to Trehaug with Leftrin would mean leaving all her friends and never knowing what they discovered in the Elderling city. So for now she'd stay here, to be with her friends and continue her tasks as a hunter for the dragons until Leftrin returned with fresh supplies. And after that? “Do you plan to live here forever?” she asked Tats again when she realized he hadn't answered her first question.

He replied quietly, in keeping with their soft tread through the forest. “Where else could we go?” He made a small gesture at her and then at his own face. “Our dragons have marked us as theirs. And while Fente is making more progress toward flying than Sintara is, I don't think either queen will be self-sufficient soon. Even if they could hunt to feed themselves, they'd still want us here with them, for grooming and companionship. We're Elderlings now, Thymara. Elderlings have always lived alongside dragons. And this is where the dragons are staying. So, yes, I suppose I'm here for the rest of my life. Or for as long as Fente is.”

He lifted a hand and pointed silently in what he thought was a better direction. She decided to agree with him and took the lead. He spoke from behind her as they slipped single-file through the forest. “Are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you truly considering going back to Trehaug? Do you think that's even possible for ones like us? I know that Sintara doesn't always treat you well. But where else can you live now? You have wings now, Thymara. I can't see you climbing and running through the treetops like you used to. Anywhere you go, people are going to stare at you. Or worse.”

Thymara folded her wings more tightly to her body. Then she frowned. She hadn't been aware she was going to do that. The foreign appendages were becoming more and more a part of her. They still made her back ache and annoyed her daily when she tried to make her worn clothing fit around them. But she moved them now without focusing on the task.

“They're beautiful,” Tats said as if he could hear her thoughts. “They're worth anything you have to endure for them.”

“They're useless,” Thymara retorted, trying not to let his compliment please her. “I'll never fly. They're like a mockery.”

“No. You'll never fly, but I still think they're beautiful.”

Now his agreement that she could never fly stung more sharply than his compliment could soothe. “Rapskal thinks I'll fly,” she retorted.

Tats sighed. “Rapskal thinks that he and Heeby will visit the moon someday. Thymara, I think your wings would have to grow much bigger before you could fly. So big that perhaps you'd be bent over by the weight of them when you walked. Rapskal doesn't stop to think how things really work. He is full of his wishes and dreams, now more than ever. And we both know he wants you and will say anything to you that will win your favor.”

She glanced back at him, a sour smile twisting her lips. “Unlike you,” she observed.

He grinned at her, his dark eyes alight with challenge. “You know I want you. I'm honest about that. I'm always honest with you, Thymara. I think you should appreciate the truth from a man who respects your intelligence rather than preferring a crazy man full of wild compliments.”

“I value your honesty,” she said and then bit her tongue before she could remind him that he hadn't always been so honest with her. He hadn't told her that he was mating with Jerd. But neither had Rapskal admitted it to her. Of course, in Rapskal's case, he hadn't really concealed it from her. He simply hadn't thought it all that important.

After all, most of the male keepers seemed to have enjoyed Jerd's favors. And probably continued to, for all Thymara knew. The question came back to her. Why was it so important to her? Tats wasn't with Jerd anymore. He didn't seem to attach any real importance to what he had done. So why did it matter so much to her?

Thymara slowed her pace. They were approaching an opening in the forest, and where the trees thinned there was more light ahead. She made a motion to Tats to be quiet and slow his pace, took the best of her unsatisfactory arrows, and set it to the bow. Time to move her eyes more than her body. She set her shoulder to a tree to steady her stance and began a slow survey of the forest meadow before them.

She could focus her eyes but not her unruly thoughts. Jerd had been very quick to cast off the rules of their Rain Wild upbringing. Girls such as she and Jerd and Sylve were not allowed to take husbands. All knew that Rain Wild children who were scaled or clawed at birth would likely not grow to adulthood. They were not worth the resources it would take to raise them, for even if they lived, they seldom bore viable children. Those who tried usually died in labor, leaving the monsters that survived the births to be exposed. Husbands were forbidden to those strongly touched by the Rain Wilds, as deeply forbidden as mating outside the marriage bed was forbidden to all Rain Wilders. But Jerd had chosen to ignore both those rules. Jerd was lovely, with her fair hair and piercing eyes and lithe body. She had chosen which keepers she wished to bed, and then picked them off one at a time like a cat at a mouse nest and with as little compunction about the outcome of her appetite. Even when some of the youths came to blows over her, she seemed to accept it as her due. Thymara had been torn between envy for the freedom Jerd had claimed and fury at the swath of emotional discord she cut through the company.

Eventually, she'd paid the price, one that Thymara did not like to remember. When Jerd's unlikely pregnancy ended in a premature birth, Thymara had been one of the women to attend her. She had seen the tiny body of the fish-girl before they delivered the corpse to Veras, Jerd's dragon. It was strange to think that Thymara had taken a lesson from that, but Jerd had seemed unaffected by it. Thymara had refrained from sharing her body with any of the keepers, while Jerd continued to take her pleasure wherever she pleased. It made no sense. Some days she resented Jerd's stupidity that could bring trouble for all of them; but more often she envied how the other girl had seized her freedom and her choices and seemed not to care what anyone else thought of her.

Freedom and choices. She could seize the one and make the other. “I'm staying,” she said quietly. “Not for my dragon. Not even for my friends. I'm staying here for me. To make a place where I do belong.”

Tats looked over at her. “Not for me?” he asked without guile.

She shook her head. “Honesty,” she reminded him quietly.

He glanced away from her. “Well, at least you didn't say you were staying for Rapskal.” Then, quite suddenly, Tats made a sound, a hoarse intake of breath. A moment later Thymara whispered on a sigh, “I see him.”

The animal that was moving cautiously from the perimeter of the forest and into the open meadow was magnificent. Thymara was slowly becoming accustomed to the great size that the hoofed creatures of this dry forest could attain. Even so, this was the largest she had seen yet. She could have slung a sleeping net between the reaches of his two flat-pronged antlers. They were not the tree-branch-like horns she had seen on the other deer of this area. These reminded her of hands with widespread fingers. The creature that bore them was worthy of such a massive crown. His shoulders were immense, and a large hummock of meaty flesh rode them. He paced like a rich man strolling through a market, setting one careful foot down at a time. His large, dark eyes swept the clearing once, and then he dismissed his caution. Thymara was not surprised. What sort of predator could menace a beast of that size? She drew the bowstring taut and held her breath, but her hope was small. At best, she could probably deliver a flesh wound through that thick hide. If she injured him sufficiently or made him bleed enough, she and Tats could track him to his death place. But this would not be a clean kill for any of them.