Fire: Tales of Elemental Spirits (30 page)

Dag was just finishing when Sippy and I arrived. We sat around (in Sippy's case lay around) in silence for a few minutes drinking Ralas' tisane (Sippy had most of a bowl of water) and then Ralas said to Dag, ʺWhy don't you take Ern and Sippy with you when you go back to the Academy?ʺ

She said it in this really reasonable voice like you might say, ʺBe sure to pack enough sandwiches, and don't forget your oilskin because it's going to rain some more.ʺ Dag opened his mouth and closed it again. He may call me Tinhead but he's not a bad guy. So since he wouldn't say it, I did.

ʺ
Why?
ʺ

Ralas laughed. ʺI don't know,ʺ she said, in that maddening wiz ardy way of hers. ʺIt feels like a good idea.ʺ

It's true that when your wizard suggests you do something—especially a local wizard who usually gives pretty good advice and who furthermore has done your family a good turn or two already—you tend to do it. However useless or insane it sounds. Even so, when Dag looked into the bottom of the mug he was holding and sighed and said, ʺAll right,ʺ I wondered what she'd put in his tisane.

I could think of about six
but
s immediately and, give me a minute, I'd think of six more. But I looked at Dag with his big shoulders all slumped staring into the bottom of his mug with his hands cupped over the brim like the answer was in there and he was trying to prevent it from jumping out and running away, and didn't say anything after all. No, that's not true. After a little while I said, ʺWhen do you want to leave?ʺ

ʺTomorrow,ʺ he said.

Mum blinked once or twice when Dag told our parents what Ralas had said, but Dad didn't even do that much. He was polishing a fancy carved chair leg he'd just mended and neither sons nor wizards were going to interrupt his train of thought. Mum tried to get him to pay attention by repeating the news but all he said was, ʺAh? When're they leaving then? Maybe you can get Jardy to do some of your deliveries.ʺ But when he came in from his workshop he gave me a very clear, sharp, paying-attention look, and then nodded. I knew that nod. It was the nod he used when he'd been going around a craft fair or something looking at all the other carpenters' work and found something he really liked. It rattled me, that nod, but it also made me feel good, although I wasn't going to risk it by saying anything like ʺWhat do you mean?ʺ

But it was even stranger, later on, when I was doing the washing up, and Mum came up behind me and said, ʺErn.ʺ Dag had already gone to bed; he'd had no sleep last night. I braced myself. Mum tended to know everything and to be generous about spreading her superior intelligence around. Or maybe I just wasn't cleaning the dishes well enough. But she didn't say anything for so long after she'd said my name eventually I turned around (dripping water and soap-suds) and she was standing there with her face all screwed up with worry.

ʺMum—?ʺ

ʺTake care of him, won't you?ʺ she said. ʺYou'll take care of Dag.ʺ

This was more worried than I'd ever seen her. I tried to look taller and older. She didn't even say anything about the dripping when I put my arms around her. ʺOf course I will.ʺ

In more of her usual manner she said, ʺDon't patronise me, young man,ʺ although she didn't shake me off. She added, ʺBut you've got a good head on your shoulders, and Dag has . . . temporarily mislaid his. I don't suppose Ralas can do anything about the dragon?ʺ

I shook my head.

ʺBe careful,ʺ she said. She hesitated and then said, ʺMaybe I should—ʺ and stopped. ʺYou're dripping on the floor.ʺ

I turned back to the dishes, trying not to let her see me grin. She put her hand on my shoulder. ʺWe'll talk about your future when you get back.ʺ

And then I bent lower over the dishes so she couldn't see my face.

ʺYes, I know, we should have done it before.ʺ She added, ʺWe haven't forgotten you, Ern.ʺ

I didn't say anything, and she patted my shoulder and left me.

It was sunny and clear when we set off the next morning (but we had our oilskins because it would rain later, and lots and lots of sandwiches because Mum always believed her sons were about to starve to death). If it had just been Dag he could have stayed a week because he'd be able to find a dragon to hitch a ride on; there were always dragons going to Clare, which is a big town in its own right as well as being the Academy town. Even the smallest, slowest dragon doing hop-stops (which is all you find around here) is still days faster than human feet. But cadets aren't allowed to bring their little brothers let alone their little brothers' foogits when they hitch. So we were going to walk.

I tried not to sound like I was looking for a way out when I asked Ralas if Sippy could walk that far on his leg. But she said immediately, ʺHe'll be fine.ʺ And she gave me this enormous pot of liniment in case he seemed stiff. ʺGood for everybody,ʺ she said smiling. I hadn't thought about that; I spent nearly all day every day walking somewhere. And Dag—Dag was my oldest brother and a dragon academy cadet. They don't get stiff, do they? It's probably forbidden in the rulebook. It wasn't till a lot later that I thought about what she'd meant by ʺeverybody.ʺ

Sippy was obviously a bit puzzled when Ralas made a slightly more than usual fuss over him when she sent him off with me that morning. Since we were going to Twobridge it seemed easier to pick Sippy up on the way than get into a flap with Mum. She preferred to know about Sippy from a distance. (Although occasionally after a long day delivering candles I brought Sippy with me, and smuggled him upstairs to my bed which is conveniently tucked way in under the eaves. But I didn't do it very often. And as long as I didn't do it very often Mum gallantly pretended not to notice.)

Sippy was even more puzzled when we got to Twobridge and went over the river to Waysmeet and then kept on going. Waysmeet was my candle-delivery limit. But he followed me like he always did even if his eyes and ears seemed to be whirling in five different directions at once, taking in all the new sights and sounds. Not that the village after Waysmeet looked much different. But the next day, after sleeping not-as-uncomfortably-as-it-sounds under a hedgerow, you could start to see the landscape getting flatter and more open, and for days after the towns were still small and there were plenty of fields and hedgerows and streams. Once we camped by the edge of a little forest and collected enough dead wood to have a (slightly damp and sullen) fire. When it spat and fizzed at us Sippy hid behind me.

When we got to Montuthra we turned right instead of left and then I was on new territory; the big craft fair my parents went to every year was in the other direction. And after Montuthra was West Cross and then East Cross, and after that Leton.

Dag and I didn't talk much so I stumped along beside or behind him like nothing was a big deal. I don't know if he knew I'd never been this way before. He was getting more and more shut in on himself as the road disappeared under our feet and out behind us in the wrong direction, and the towns got bigger. As he got closer to the Academy, to Hereyta, and to First Flight. With a runty little brother and a lame foogit at his heels.

It was like he was waking out of a trance the last day at sundown. We were getting to what looked like the end of the town we'd been walking through (Sippy so pressed up against me I kept tripping over him; the only other town this size he'd seen was the one I'd found him in with a smashed leg) and I was wondering if I should say something before we walked past what might be the last inn we'd see before midnight. I didn't think much of the local hedgerows, and I didn't feel like walking till midnight, and in spite of picking up some food at markets on the way we'd eaten all of Mum's sandwiches by then (she didn't realise, because I'd been careful not to let her realise, how much Sippy eats). And we were short of sleep.

Last night's hedgerow had been a little too well populated and the family nearest us had a crying baby. Eventually I put on my best harmless-and-reassuring manner, although it works better in daylight, and went over there. I could see the mum in question was trying not to snap at me—if I was going to complain, I was also going to force her to admit that her child wasn't perfect. She said, ʺI'm sorry, but he's teething. He can't help it.
I
can't help it.ʺ

ʺI know,ʺ I said. ʺBut this will help. Just rub a little on his gums.ʺ I wasn't sure she'd try it—I'm good at looking harmless, but not so good at looking like I know what I'm doing—but she was desperate. The baby was asleep before I got back to Dag. He said, ʺYou should have gone over earlier.ʺ

ʺYeah,ʺ I said. But I knew he was saying ʺwell done.ʺ

I prepared to take advantage when he stopped and looked at the inn sign hanging under the lantern—looked at it like he was paying attention to something outside his thoughts for the first time that day. A girl in an apron was coming out of the inn with a long spill to light the lantern.

ʺSippy and I'll sleep in the stables, if you'll bring us some supper, ʺ I said quickly. I had my hand in my pocket for the coins Dad had given me; most inns would give a cadet in uniform free room and board, but Dag wasn't wearing his uniform. And sleeping in the stables was cheaper, but I also knew that no respectable inn would have a foogit indoors, and I didn't want to imagine what Sippy might do locked up all by himself in a little dark box in a strange town.

Dag wouldn't take Dad's coins and when he found us in the stables later on he was carrying a big tray with enough for three, and threw his pack down beside mine. He seemed almost cheerful. I'd already piled up straw so high that it was going to be a much more comfortable bed than we'd had the last several nights, and was feeling relatively cheerful myself. ʺHope you don't mind if I join you,ʺ Dag said. ʺIf I sleep in one of their rooms I'll just lie awake and . . . think. I find Sippy's snoring soothing.ʺ

The tray included a big jug of beer, which Sippy promptly knocked over, or maybe I did. Dag had put the tray on the ground because there wasn't anywhere else, but Sippy assumed it was for his benefit, and made a lunge for the plate of meat, which was still warm, and even my mere human nose registered that it smelled really good. I lunged for Sippy and the beer went over. Dag looked at the spreading pool for a moment and then laughed. ʺI'll take that as a sign,ʺ he said, ʺthat I'm to be stone cold sober tomorrow; but it was only small beer.ʺ

We'd get to Clare tomorrow.

Maybe it was the beer he didn't have but Dag was awake before dawn the next day. Well, so was I. So we got up and left. I hope the horse that had the stall after us didn't get drunk on the straw. The sleepy kitchen maid—the same one we'd seen lighting the lantern the night before—wearily found us a couple of chunks of last night's bread, and we trudged off down the road. I loitered momentarily after Dag so I could give the kitchen maid a little coldleaf for the angry new burn on her wrist, which I was pretty sure was why she hadn't slept very well, and told her how to use it. She looked at me, surprised, but she took the leaves, and I was pretty sure she'd do what I said. Especially when she gave me a handful of apples to go with the bread.

The overnight dew had laid the dust, and the road before us was cool and white in the dawn fog. It looked, I don't know, magical somehow, like it was going to lead us to some great adventure. Not to a First Flight where one of the dragons would be left behind. The one my brother was with.

I've already said that Dag and I didn't talk much but that last day it was like his silence had a wall around it, that even if I had said anything my words would have bounced off like arrows against a shield. I wouldn't even have known that we'd get to Clare today except that I'd heard one of the ostlers the night before telling someone's groom that Clare was less than a league away and they'd get there in a morning even if the roads were crowded. That and Dag's barricaded silence told me we were close. I wanted to ask him what he wanted Sippy and me to do when we got there. I didn't think he'd want to bring us into the Academy grounds—his dim little brother and his dim little brother's defective pet foogit. He had enough to deal with. I started worrying all over again about why we were there at all. It was stupid to think that Sippy and I could do anything but make Dag's humiliation more complete. But Ralas wasn't stupid. And even Dad—even Mum—had seemed to think it wasn't a bad idea. Take care of Dag? How?