Season of the Dragon, page 6
Pahpi had counseled that revenge exacted a price too high to pay. But who’s to say what price is too high to avenge the death of a person’s most beloved?
Quen made her way through Otara’s maze, glad to see the first deep purple of Hiyadi’s light on the horizon, banishing Vay’Nada’s shadow. A cloud of dust hung in the air to the west toward the Staves. The ground vibrated with a low rumble. Riders.
Though Yima Clan wasn’t due to arrive for nearly two days, Quen’s heart soared, hoping her brother Liodhan was among the new arrivals. She ran toward the still-lingering darkness of night and the rumbling hooves of the newcomers.
Chapter 5
Impelled
Impelled by the dust cloud near the western gates, Quen hastened toward it, hoping to greet Liodhan. When she reached the center of her charred village, her hopes of seeing Lio were dashed. The newcomers rode in a small column of only five riders. Not a herdclan, after all. The last rider bore a banner emblazoned with the Jagaru emblem—the Trinity over crossed falcata.
Beyond Solia’s gates, the desert was orangey-pink, swirling dust hovering in the air behind the riders. The only sounds were the Jagaru flag as it rippled in the breeze and the occasional pops of smoldering embers. Quen wished the Jagaru had arrived sooner. If they’d been here, maybe they could have stopped the murderous dragon from killing Pahpi.
The lead rider was an older man built like a merchant’s cart. Breezes lashed the loose strands of his keffla. He had a facial scar so red and deep his face looked split in two on a diagonal. The scarred man steered his kopek through the gates and held up a fist, calling for the tiny column he led to halt. “Lumine’s teats….” Something—or someone—had mangled his upper lip into a cleft, causing him to lisp when he spoke.
The short, boxy man hoisted himself off his small, dusty kopek and groaned with effort. The kopek eyed Quen warily and backed away. He might have once been a man of average height by Sulmére standards, but years of riding had bowed his legs. He hobbled toward Quen.
Behind him, a woman gracefully dismounted her sleekly oiled black kopek. Her long pale-gold split-front riding tunic flourished as she dismounted, exposing well-muscled legs clad in tight-fitting dark-blue pants. She’d tucked her pants into well-crafted riding boots ending slightly above her knee. She wore her tunic belted at the waist but open above, revealing her torso save for a sliver of blue silk underclothing covering her breasts. With sunbaked skin nearly as dark as her kopek’s, close-cropped hair as white as bleached bone, and eyes the color of fresh shoots in spring, she was the most striking woman Quen had ever seen. Even the silver scar slicing from cheek to brow enhanced rather than diminished her features.
“What happened here?” Before Quen could answer, the woman peppered her with more questions. “Raiders. Which way did they go? Was it Gauru Clan? We’ll find ‘em. Tell us which way they went.”
A third rider brought his mount between the first two, laughing a deep, melodious laugh. “Mishny, give her a chance to answer one question before you ask another.”
This rider sat atop a stocky dappled horse, a rarity in the Sulmére, where kopeks were the standard mount. He was tall, even atop his horse. When he dismounted, it took Quen’s breath away. His legs came to Mishny’s waist. He was taller even than Lio. The man tore the keffla from his head, allowing a cascade of sandy-blond hair to fall below his shoulders in loose waves. The rider’s skin was pale but reddened by the sun, a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of his straight nose, and a close-cropped beard of golden hair.
Fano had told Quen about the towering, fair-haired people from the north across the Orju Sea. She had never seen one, though. She tried not to gawk.
The tall northerner fixed his steel-blue gaze on Quen. The look was nearly intimate and made Quen feel squirmy. She didn’t dislike it.
“Stuff it, Aldewin,” Mishny said.
Aldewin. I wonder what he looks like beneath that tunic? Red heat bloomed on Quen’s cheeks.
“Shove your harsh tongue, Mishny,” the older man said.
As Mishny and the older man traded barbs, Aldewin’s eyes remained fixed on Quen as he stowed riding gloves at his weapon belt. A long, thin steel blade like Pahpi’s hung from his belt in a black scabbard tooled with unfamiliar symbols. On his right, he wore a shorter, kukri-style blade, perfect for tight fights. He also carried a staff strapped across his back, a weapon rarely seen in Solia, and under it a sheathed broadsword. Is he adept at wielding all these weapons? He doesn’t look like a typical Jagaru.
The last two riders, including the flag bearer for the small Jagaru pod, finally arrived and dismounted their kopeks. A woman called out, “Hi-ho!” from behind a keffla-wrapped face.
The voice was familiar, but Quen didn’t recognize her. The woman strode toward Quen, took off her keffla, and shook out a mass of tightly worked dark braids.
“Shel!” Quen called. “Where have you been? I expected you last season, but you didn’t come.” Shel traveled the Sulmére with her brother, Eira, and their father, Nathisen. Nathisen was a cordwain who serviced the nomadic herdclans. It had been two springs since Quen last saw her friend.
They embraced, Shel smelling of huson pine and desert sand. It was a comforting aroma. Her arms are more muscular, and she’s taller, too. Shel was now about the average height of an adult Indrasian woman, but she was still nearly a head smaller than Quen.
Shel stepped back and looked beyond Quen to the carnage of Solia. Her smile gave way to a furrowed brow. “I wish we’d gotten here sooner.”
Eira, Shel’s twin brother, sidled up next to her and gave Quen a brief hug of greeting as well. “Where is Rhoji?” His question contained an air of panic.
“He’s fine. He’s…” Quen kicked the dirt with her toe. Her throat was tight, her voice about to crack. She didn’t want to cry in front of the newcomers, especially Aldewin. She finally managed, “At Santu’s Stand.”
Relief flooded Eira’s face. He was already on his way, but Quen caught his arm. Hot tears burned her eyes, and she no longer held them back. “Pahpi—” It was all she could get out before her breaths became hiccups, her lower lip trembling.
Eira’s brown eyes glistened with tears, and he wrapped his arms around Quen. His tears wet her shoulder. Shel wrapped an arm around her, too.
Eira wiped his face, and his voice quavered. “He might like some company. I must go to him.”
Shel said, “I’m so sorry. I know how you must feel.”
Quen doubted that. How could she know the pain of losing my whole life? Of the growing struggle to keep the Nixan from stealing my skin? Shel and Eira were her only friends, and having thought she’d lost them, she didn’t want to sour their reunion. Quen didn’t raise an argument and instead embraced her friend.
Shel smoothed Quen’s hair and rubbed her back. “We lost our da too. Bandits on the Trinity Road south of Enarili.” Shel wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I am so sorry, Shel. I didn’t know.” Quen pressed her fingers to her heart, lips, and third eye as she said the words. “May he find comfort in the Sister’s embrace.”
Druvna and Aldewin responded, “And be warmed by the fire of the Brothers.”
Mishny interrupted the mourning of the two young women who’d lost their fathers. “Cry later. Now we hunt the raiders who did this to your da.”
Before Quen could set Mishny straight, Aldewin said, “It was no raid.”
“Suda! To Vay’Nada with your Northman rune-reading crap, Aldewin.” Mishny’s green eyes sparkled with anger.
The older man exploring the merchant tents spoke up. “You don’t need runes or be a Juka-jod to see the truth. Use your eyes, woman. This town was no’a burned with torches. Something scorched this village.” He plucked a clump of what looked like glass from the sand beside a stall that used to be the cheesemonger’s. “This here damage is from a rain of fire. From above.” His forehead crinkled, and he looked to the sky as he held up the odd blob of glass.
Mishny took the glass from the older man’s hand. “What are you on about, Druvna?” She snickered as she looked at the strange item. Mishny examined the sandy glass blob and scrunched her face. She waved it at Quen and demanded, “What is this?”
She’s interrogating me like I caused this destruction.
Aldewin whistled from what used to be Fano’s stall. Mishny dropped the glass blob and released Quen from her intense gaze. Quen followed Mishny, Druvna, and Shel to where Aldewin stood.
“By the Three, the fire fused the unfortunate man’s hand to his war ax.” Aldewin referred to Fano, who still stood, a molten man statue, his eyes to the sky, his ax ready for a battle that never came.
Mishny’s voice was a barely audible whisper. “Like we saw further south.” She exchanged a look with Druvna.
Aldewin’s voice was deep, with a Northman’s sonorous accent. “What happened here?”
All eyes were again on Quen.
“You won’t believe the truth,” she said.
Druvna took a long pipe from his belt, stuffed it with tarry-looking tobacco, and lit it using the smoldering embers of Fano’s smithing fire. “We’ve ranged all the way to the southern border of Indrasi and back, girl.” Smoke floated above his square head. “Seen things people ain’t ‘sposed to see.” He fixed his eyes on her. “So try us.”
The four circled Quen. They stared at her as though they were waiting for Lumine herself to bless them. Quen sought Shel’s face, and her friend nodded reassurance.
“It was no raid,” Quen said. “It was a dragon attack.”
Not one of them flinched, laughed, or called her a liar. Quen wished they had. Their lack of shocked disbelief in her outlandish claim made the hairs on her arms stand on end again.
“Did it have purple scales so dark they looked nearly black?” Druvna asked.
Quen felt like someone had taken her air. She hadn’t expected that the Jagaru would have seen the damned thing before. Unable to form words, she nodded.
Shaking his head, Druvna dashed his keffla to the dirt. “Ilkay’s bones, but this is a disaster.”
“You’ve seen this dragon before?” None of them spoke, but their lack of denial was answer enough. “And you didn’t warn anyone? You didn’t—” Hot tears of anger and frustration shored up by her primordial need to blame someone for her misfortune welled. “If you’d warned us, maybe we’d—”
“Be just as dead as these folks already are.” Mishny’s stern tone was gone, but her words held no comfort.
Shel said, “We were on our way here. To warn Santu. To let him know what was coming so he could prepare. Set up watchtowers. Get people to Otara at the first sighting.” She shook her head. “But we were too late.” She wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I’m sorry, Quen.”
Quen shook with anger and wanted to take it out on the only people around to blame. But it’s not their fault. Hell, if the Jagaru had arrived two days ago, I doubt anyone would believe them if they spouted about a dragon attack. I wouldn’t have, and neither would Pahpi. Even if Pahpi hadn’t thought they were curd brains, how could we combat fire raining from the sky? War axes, Kensai swords, and blades were useless against a flying enemy. We’ll need something more. We’ll need Pillar-trained mages to counter dragon fire.
“What will you do about the dragon now? Be too late to warn other villages or herdclans?” She hadn’t intended her voice to contain such an edge, but she didn’t regret it either.
Tendrils of grey smoke escaped through the split in Druvna’s upper lip as he spoke, holding his pipe with his tobacco-stained teeth. “We aim to hunt the bastard down and kill it.” He spoke calmly, like a person telling what he’d eaten for midday meal.
A jolt like sky-fire zinged Quen from head to toe. Her Nixan heart tharumped, its beat off-kilter from hers. For an instant, time moved for Quen as if she lived in a world caught in amber. And in that instant, Quen knew the path she must take.
I can join my friends and fulfill my vow to bring Pahpi’s killer to justice. The Pillar will have to wait, Dini.
“It seems we have the same goal, Druvna. How do I become a Jagaru and join your hunt?”
Druvna held out a stubby hand. “Welcome to my Jagaru pod.”
That was easier than I expected. Quen grasped Aldewin’s wrist, and he took hers. His forearms were tight ropes of muscle.
“Seems we got a new moss-brained squib to join you other youngins.” Druvna wiped his forehead with a dusty cloth. Instead of removing his sweat, it merely smeared it into a muddy smudge. “I’m probably going to regret this.”
Mishny crossed her arms and scowled. Either she doesn’t like me, or she gives that attitude to everyone. Time will tell which is true.
Shel hugged Quen. “It’ll be nice to have another woman on the road to talk to.” She whispered into Quen’s ear. “And someone to gossip with about Aldewin.”
Mishny rolled her eyes at them.
Aldewin held out an arm to her and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I guess you’ll be riding with us now. What do we call you?”
“My name is Quen Tomo Santu. But you can call me Quen.” She took his wrist as he took hers, and her loins tightened while a quiver ran through her. A new but not unwelcome sensation.
She craned her neck to look into Aldewin’s soft-blue eyes. He stared first at her sky-blue eye, then gazed deeply into her amber-yellow one.
“Quen.”
His hand was warm, his grasp firm. It was suddenly warmer, and Quen wished for a breeze.
“Your eyes…”
That’s what you get for allowing yourself to be attracted. Quen attempted to pull her hand away, but Aldewin held onto it.
“Please excuse that I stare. It’s just that I never… Well, to see eyes so clearly of two schools. Filled with the fire of Vatra, but also the Still Waters of Enara. They’re—beautiful to behold.”
Quen’s neck burned, her cheeks hot. Aldewin noticed her reaction, coughed, and released her hand. Beautiful to behold? No one had ever told Quen any part of her was beautiful. Well, except Pahpi, and a parent telling their child they’re attractive doesn’t count. Quen’s true heart drummed wildly, and she looked at the dirt and twirled a toe in the ashy sand.
“I wonder, Quen the Twice Blessed, do you see the world in two ways? Are you truly a woman of both Enara and Vatra?”
If he knew me, I don’t think he’d consider me blessed once, let alone twice. “I’ve seen little of the world beyond Solia.” She glanced around them, the still-smoldering embers and acrid, smoky odor bringing her back to the grim reality of her homelessness. “But I care little for Vatra’s chaos and destruction.” She turned her attention back to him. “I prefer the calm of Still Waters.”
Aldewin smiled and gave her a nod. “The world is vast and brimming with wonder. Come with the Jagaru pod, and you’ll see more of it soon.” He turned and followed Druvna as they made their way toward the river to make camp.
Quen whispered to Shel, “Tell me everything you know about him.”
• • •
Santu Inzo Dakon di Sulmére lay on a bed of bone-dry gliniri reeds. He was about to be set afire.
Dini had helped Quen dress Pahpi in his best red linen tunic, the amber pendant on his chest. Dini had carefully wrapped his charred face with a keffla. Save for his bare hands, he looked like a man in repose.
It’s a waste of precious wood to burn bodies already scorched beyond recognition. Yet here Santu lay, along with at least a dozen others, ready to be made into ash, their vapors whisked away on Juka’s breath. Pahpi had once told her they burned bodies because nothing is wasted in the Sulmére. “A hungry hyena doesn’t care what a man achieved in life. The hyena knows only that he needs to fill his belly,” Pahpi had said.
Pahpi, the informally recognized leader of Solia, lay on a pyre, ready to drift on the Great River until he found his way to Lumine’s arms. It’s better than ending up in the belly of a scavenger, but that doesn’t mean I like it.
Lio, his herdwife, Zarate, and their infant daughter, Lumina, had arrived with Jima Clan the day prior. The cloud of grief overshadowed the expected joy of meeting her new niece. Lio had taken the news of Pahpi’s death hard and retreated into the solitude of his tent. There would be no drunken reunion at Yulina’s, partly because none were in the mood and partly because Yulina’s was now a pile of ash.
Quen stood between her brothers, her back to the gathering of recently arrived herdclans and Druvna’s small Jagaru pod. She swore she felt Aldewin staring at her from behind, but she dared not glance back to check. If he wasn’t looking at her, she’d feel disappointed. If he was, she’d color crimson and embarrass herself.
They’d begun the Nilva rites for the dead in the morning, and it was now past midday. Musicians from the herdclans had taken turns drumming and chanting throughout the morning. There had been breaks for flatbread, briny olives, cheese, dried jiri fruit, drinks from water skins, and even sips of firewater from personal stashes.
The crowd had ebbed and flowed, but now nearly everyone was back to hear Dini say the customary Nilva prayers to send a soul to the Corner he claimed in life. For Santu, that meant prayers to Lumine and wishes for his boat to find the calm waters of Enara.
There were few dry eyes during Dini’s talk about Santu. All in the Sulmére knew him well, and few among them could have found harsh words to say about Santu, even if they'd tried.
Quen expected to be an emotional mess, but the fires of justice raging in her chest burned away her tears.
As Solia was small, Nilva rites were uncommon. Usually, it had fallen to Santu to speak the Nilva. He was always quick about it, as was fitting. It’s not right to linger in public while saying goodbyes to a loved one. The pyre was expedience, not sentiment, at least as far as Quen was concerned. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can stop thinking about how hollow I feel without him.
