Season of the Dragon, page 5
Frozen in place like a man-sized cinder, Fano’s fingers still clutched melted and twisted smithing tongs. His charred-black neck craned as though he’d been looking to the skies when he died.
Quen tore off her keffla and retched in the ash-covered dirt. Rhoji dismounted and stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder.
“I am sorry. May the Sister welcome him into her arms.”
Quen couldn’t form the words for the reply. She’d never realized what little solace perfunctory condolences provided. When she spoke, her voice cracked. “Pahpi.”
As she ran, her town’s glowing embers and smoldering ruins were a blur. Her chest was in a vise, her vision bleary. She didn’t want to see what lay ahead, yet she couldn’t help hurtling toward Santu’s Stand. “Pahpi!” she called.
The crackle and hiss of still-smoldering embers were the only answer to her call.
“Pahpi!” she screamed. At least she tried to call, but the tightness in her throat made her voice a strangled cry.
Santu’s Stand was a pile of glowing embers. The fire had also destroyed the packed earthen buildings behind the store. Her quarters—Rhoji and Liodhan’s—and the stalls where she and Rhoji had tanned and dyed hides. Dragon fire had obliterated everything they had.
She leaped over the rubble, ignoring the heat of smoldering coals. Her sight, always keen even in the dark, scanned the remains of Santu’s Stand. The place she’d spent most of her waking hours. A gleam of silver caught her eye.
A lump of black cinder in the shape of a hand still held the silver blade Pahpi had brandished at Nevara. Dragon fire had reduced her beloved Pahpi to a man-sized charred coal. The only recognizable piece of him left was the amber pendant he always wore around his neck.
Her wobbly legs gave out, and Quen fell. Hands shaking, she grabbed the pendant, but it was still hot. She let it remain on the cinder that used to be her Pahpi. Darkness played at the edges of her vision, her stomach queasy.
“Quen?” Rhoji called.
“Rhoji,” she croaked.
He fell to his knees beside her. Rhoji made a sound like an animal ensnared in a trap. Quen put her arms around him, and to her surprise, Rhoji wrapped his arms around her, too. Their mutual grief obliterated the petty obstacles between them, at least for a time. They held each other tightly as though they’d spin off into the heavens if they didn’t. They said nothing. The only sounds were the crackle of embers and the occasional sniffle. Her head on Rhoji’s chest, she heard his heart thumping wildly. They sat frozen like memories of forgotten things and stared at what used to be their everything.
Black soot smeared Rhoji’s once-immaculate tunic. Ash covered his dark hair. Rhoji’s fingers trembled as he grasped the pendant made of amber from the forests of the Vindaô Province where they’d been born. Through watery eyes, Rhoji stared at the lock of their mother’s hair encased in smooth amber. Despite Vaya di Soli scripture making it taboo to keep any part of the dead, such pendants were common. Pahpi had worn this pendant inside his clothing, never visible but always close.
Rhoji was about to put it around his neck but hesitated. He placed it on the rubble that had been Santu Inzo Dakon di Sulmére. Their Pahpi.
“He loved her. It should stay with him.” Fresh tears played at Rhoji’s lashes. “Why here? Why him?”
Those weren’t the questions Quen had. How can a dragon, known only in stories, fly over my village and murder my father? Why did this happen the same day a Nixan fought with Pahpi and claimed my mother promised me to Volenex? She kept her questions to herself and proffered no answers to Rhoji’s. Discussing it would require her to reveal more about herself than she wanted.
Instead, she said, “Do you think Dini and the rest survived?” Her voice cracked. “Otara—”
Rhoji wiped his face with the dirty sleeve of his tunic. “It’s stone. Maybe—”
Quen rose and wiped her backside. She had no stomach to stare at her father’s scorched flesh. “I have to go check on her.”
“You’re leaving him? Do you not care at all that he’s…”
Quen’s first instinct was to quarrel. He was accusing her of being heartless. Like the slint I fear I’m becoming. But her urge to leave the charred remains of their father wasn’t out of lack of grief but because she feared to remain. The longer I linger by his body, the more I want to bury myself in the sand beside him until I’m nothing but bleached bone.
“I have no stomach to stare at his scorched flesh or to argue with you. Not today. Handle grief as you will, Rhoji, and allow me to handle mine as I will.”
Rhoji wiped his eyes, smearing ash across his face. Finally, he said, “You are right.” He sniffled. “Go find Dini. She may have injured to care for.”
Quen turned to go, but Rhoji caught the leg of her pants. Tears welled, and his lip trembled. “Do you—think he suffered?”
Rhoji had never asked her opinion about anything. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “It was quick. I don’t think he suffered.” She gently kicked the sword with her toe. “And he went down fighting. An honorable end to the life of a Kensai.”
The sword reflected the orange light of fires still burning. Rhoji’s voice cracked. “Do you think Lio will mind—do you think I can keep it?”
Their older brother, Liodhan, was now First Kin. By rights, all Pahpi owned was now his. But Jiniro, the father of Lio’s herdwife, Zarate, was Lio’s father now. Rhoji needs scraps from Pahpi more than Lio. “Keep it, Rhoji. I think you’ll have more use of it than Lio.”
He plucked the sword from the sand and wiped tears from his cheeks with his sleeve. Rhoji held it reverently with both hands. “This is a finely crafted sword. Not something common in the Sulmére. I didn’t know Pahpi owned such a blade. I wonder where he got it?”
And why he kept it hidden. “We didn’t know he was full Kensai until yesterday.” Was that only a day ago?
“We can find comfort in knowing he didn’t suffer long.” Quen’s throat tightened. “And he has joined Lumine the Sister and bathes now in her eternal waters. He’s at peace.”
Rhoji nodded. “He once again stands at our mother’s side. Thank you, Quen. Your words comfort me.”
After what I witnessed between Nevara and Pahpi, I wonder if Pahpi wants to stand by our mother’s side any longer? But thoughts of their parents reunited comforted Rhoji, so Quen held her tongue. Let him remain at peace in his ignorance of our parents’ eternal secrets. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Please say no. It’s all I can do not to race from my soot-covered life.
Rhoji wiped the dust from Pahpi’s sword on his tunic. “No, go. Check on our Bruxia. I will be along later.”
Quen sped away from the charred remnants of their home. Rhoji wanted to stay and pay respects to Pahpi. That is Rhoji’s way, but I can’t bear sitting with the horrid odor of his burnt flesh.
She could run from his burnt remains, but Quen couldn’t escape her guilt. Her last words with Pahpi had been harsh ones. I refused his hand. I should throw myself on the pyre for penance. She wiped her face on her sleeve, smearing tears and snot onto her cheeks.
Grief made her legs leaden and her feet thick. Otara anchored the southeastern edge of Solia, but it might as well have been ten leagues away. Built in a prior era, Otara was a honeycomb of apartments and food storage caches carved into the sandy beige stone of a weathered mountain shouldering the shores of the Lakmi River. Through watery eyes, the stony edifice was a bleary smudge on the horizon.
Pijwar Clan’s orange tents already colored the banks of the Lakmi. Soon more herdclans would arrive and erect tents, each group claiming a different color so that the verdant banks of the Lakmi would become a rainbow. Lio’s herdclan, Yima, claimed regal purple, and the thought of Lio and his new babe raised her spirits. I’m relieved the fire didn’t harm Pijwar, but it makes no sense. Why would a dragon burn a village but leave a thukna herd untouched?
The conversations with Rhoji about Pahpi and the Dynasty flooded her mind. Did the Kovan Dynasty send the dragon as a warning to the people of the Sulmére? It was a wild, fanciful thought, but she would have said that about dragons less than a day ago.
Quen called to Dini as she wove through the maze of small apartments and halls of Otara. An elderly woman told Quen to look for Dini in the eastern apartments. “And stop shouting,” she hollered as Quen scurried away.
Quen found Dini where the woman had said she would. The Bruxia knelt on the smooth stone floor, her gnarled hands shaking as she wrapped a charred arm loosely with a cloth.
Quen didn’t speak. She, too, knelt on the other side of Dini’s patient.
The severely scorched body barely resembled a person. Fire had burnt off the hair and seared the clothes into the flesh in a few places. Ugly red and black wounds marred the face. The dragon’s fire permanently disfigured this person.
Dini handed a small bowl of a gooey substance to Quen. “Apply this to her arm. Gently.” She’d only just handed it to Quen when she added, “Hurry now. I’ve given her the nys’t, but she won’t sleep long. She’ll awaken with twofold agony, such is the Vay’Nada bargain of the nys’t.”
Quen used the small wooden paddle spoon in the bowl to apply a thick layer of the medicine. “Who is this?”
Dini glanced across her patient and gave Quen an even stare. “Yulina.”
The world spun like a child’s top at the edge of a precipice. Would Yulina have preferred to die rather than endure this? While Quen wouldn’t call Yulina a friend, the barkeeper had at least always been civil to Quen. Of course, Yulina welcomed all to her establishment so long as they had the pits and dars to buy drinks. But Quen appreciated having at least one place besides Santu’s Stand where they treated her with dignity rather than wariness. By Lumine’s pale light, you didn’t deserve this fate, Yulina. Quen sniffled.
Quen applied the ointment while Dini deftly wrapped Yulina’s wounds. All the while, Quen fought back nausea. She tried to focus on her task. She prayed to the Sister to give Yulina the peace of Still Waters. Aiding Yulina was the only thing keeping her from curling into a wailing ball of grief and despair.
Yulina escaped the sleep of the nys’t once, her voice a raspy but desperate whisper. “Please.”
Maybe Yulina was asking for more nys’t. Or maybe she’s asking Dini to put an end to her misery.
Dini held a small vial to Yulina’s lips and poured in more than a few drops of the precious nys’t, a potent painkiller made from the night flowers of the nystrem plant. Tears rolled from Yulina’s eyes toward her ears, and she yowled in pain when the salty liquid came upon freshly flayed skin.
After Dini had loosely wrapped Yulina’s burns, she used strips of cloth to bind Yulina’s hands. Before Quen could answer the question, Dini said, “So she doesn’t scratch herself or pull off the wraps.”
Or grab your scissors and shove them into her own heart.
When they’d finished tending to Yulina, Quen asked, “What more can we do for her?”
Dini wiped sweat from her brow. “You? Nothing. I’ll watch her through the night, giving her more nys’t as she needs it.”
“I’ll tend her.” Quen was about to stroke Yulina’s temple, but pulled her hand back. My touch would irritate Yulina’s raw skin rather than soothe her.
The Bruxia gave Quen a small, tired smile and took her hand. “Thank you, sol’dishi, but you have enough to do. Though you make a fine assistant, this is Bruxia work. I will perform the O’Dishi chants. Loving prayers are powerful medicine.”
Quen wanted to request chants to raise Pahpi from the dead, but she knew it was impossible. Not even the most powerful Bruxia or mage had such magic. As she stared at Yulina’s scorched face, Quen was grateful fate spared Pahpi this misery. He wouldn’t have wanted to be maimed like Yulina. Fresh tears welled.
I am surely in a dream. Pahpi—this cannot be. She rubbed her eyes and blinked. It did nothing to remove the feeling she’d fallen into Vay’Nada, the Shadow sucking air from her lungs.
Dini filled a kettle with water from a large jug and put it on the hot stones by the small fire. “I forgot to ask. Did you need something, or did you run out here just to help old Dini?” She sat down heavily on a wobbly wooden stool made dark with age.
As there was only one seat in the tiny apartment, Quen knelt across from Dini so their eyes met. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Dini welcomed Quen as she did everyone in Solia. Quen had always appreciated how Dini made her feel like a part of the community when most didn’t.
Assisting Dini had distracted Quen from the grief welling like raging waters behind a levee. Dini wrapped Quen in warm arms, and the dam gave way.
Her grief came out in a torrent of long, wailing sobs. She soaked Dini’s tunic with tears and snot. The clamps of pent-up emotion that had held Quen’s chest in a tight grip released. Silent and patient, Dini gently stroked Quen’s hair, taking Quen’s grief onto her resilient Bruxia shoulders.
Quen’s voice quavered. “I’m an awful person.” She hiccupped. “By the Three, when my time comes to travel the River, Lumine will not welcome me into her arms.”
Dini pressed Quen away from her so she could look at her face. “What are you talking about? Awful person?” Dini tsked and gestured toward Yulina with her head. “You helped me give relief to our barkeep here. And I’ve never seen you refuse to help a person in need, Quen. Not even people who—well, never did you any favors.”
Yulina’s brow furrowed. Even in the deep sleep of the nys’t, her body knew pain.
Quen snuffled, and her words came out in stilted hiccups. “My last words to him….” Her ragged breaths halted her words, and fresh tears welled. “I gave him the rough side of my tongue. And I refused the hand of love and kinship when he offered it.” The constriction of guilt bound her chest again.
Dini’s eyes softened. “Ah, the suffering of regret.” She rubbed Quen’s back. “Shh, sol’dishi, calm your mind.”
“That’s the thing, Dini. I can’t. I’ll always….” Her breaths were ragged hiccups.
“Breathe, child. That’s it. Still Waters, as your Pahpi taught you.”
She tried to do as Dini said, but thinking of Still Waters reminded her of her spat with Pahpi, her last memory of him. The ridge on her neck throbbed. I wish I could wrest the damned Nixan heart from my body and dash it against Otara’s stone. To be done with the shadow soul once and for all. Quen breathed deeply as Dini told her, releasing a quavering breath, then another. Finally, she could speak again and voice the worst of her fears. “What if Lumine will never welcome the likes of me to her arms?” A Nixan shadow-spawn like me. Fresh tears welled. “Then I’ll never see Pahpi again.”
Dini sighed and kissed the top of Quen’s head. “Lumine is forgiving, not vengeful. She will not deny her grace because of a few harsh words said in anger. And Pahpi carried Lumine’s light in his heart more than anyone I knew. He knew you loved him and wouldn’t hold a disagreement against you.”
Quen wiped her nose. “Do you really think so?”
Dini tucked a stray tendril of hair behind Quen’s ear. “I know so.” She cupped Quen’s chin in her plump hand. “You question the wisdom of your Bruxia?”
Quen knew better than to question Dini. She shook her head and exhaled, her tears momentarily quelled.
Dini put herb bundles in cups and poured hot water over them while eyeing Quen warily. “I know your grief is fresh, but I urge you to fulfill your Pahpi’s wish. Study at Val’Enara Pillar. The Ascended Masters will teach you how to release the pain that darkens your heart, sol’dishi. You’ll see.” She handed a warm earthen cup to Quen.
I can’t think of a future without Pahpi. She raised the cup to her mouth, and her lip quivered.
“Oh, sol’dishi. I didn’t mean to—”
Quen wiped her eyes and waved off Dini’s apology. “It’s all right. I just…” She sipped the tea and willed the empty pit in her stomach to be calm. Finally, she said, “I can’t go to Val’Enara now. Lio and Rhoji need me.” Quen’s voice quavered. “And… without a guide, I’ll never make it across the Chasm of Nil.”
“We’ll find a way, sol’dishi. It is what Pahpi wanted for you.”
But it’s not what I ever wanted for myself. However, today was not the day to spar with Dini over her future path. The Way of Water was Pahpi’s answer to all troubles. But Quen couldn’t think about her future. Not so soon after the shock of losing Pahpi. My future smolders, reeking of burnt flesh and dragon’s breath.
That dragon murdered my dearest Pahpi and robbed me of my future. The fires of vengeance roiled in Quen’s belly, filling the void of loss with a molten core of anger. Quen drank the tea, but it did little to soothe her rankled mind. How can I lock myself away in a Pillar while that Vay’Nada spawn lives? A fervent monk’s prayers wouldn’t protect her loved ones from the murderous dragon’s fire.
Quen eyed the pulpy herbs at the bottom of her cup, considering how she could ask Dini the many questions swirling in her mind. But she was tired and unable to focus. If I talk about Nevara, Rajani, dragons, and Volenex, I’ll probably reveal too much.
She drained her remaining tea in one gulp, handed the cup to Dini, and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “Thank the Three you….” Quen wrapped Dini in a crushing hug.
Dini said, “Go, sol’dishi. Help Rhoji and those in need.” She sniffled.
Quen left Dini to her work and, once in the hall, pressed her back against the cool stone wall and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply, searching within for stillness. It was no good.
Quen didn’t want placid water or smooth sand. If I think about Still Waters, I’ll remember Pahpi’s infectious laugh. I’ll long for our conversation as we tanned skins by the light of the Brothers.
She pressed her heels into her eyes and willed herself not to cry. Vatra’s fires churned in her core like a molten mass. A force I barely glimpsed and don’t understand took Pahpi from me. Deep inside, something stirred, but was beyond her grasp. It was like an itch she couldn’t reach, pestering until the sweet relief of scratching. Quen longed to bring the murderous dragon to justice nearly as much as she ached to exterminate the Nixan part of herself. I don’t know how I’ll rid myself of the pesky Nixan, but I’ll make that dragon pay for all it took from me. I vow this to you, Pahpi. I will avenge your death if it’s the last thing I do.
