In Stone's Clasp (8 page)

“That was close,” he said. “We are lucky he did not expect to encounter you again so soon. He would have been better prepared.”

Kevla’s voice shook as she spoke. “I should not have thought of him.” She could not bring herself to speak the name, but knew the Dragon would know whom she meant. “I could have revealed everything he had told me. He would be so disappointed in me if he—if he were still alive.”

“I think not,” said the Dragon, in as gentle a voice as so powerful a being could manage. “I think he would be very proud of you.”

Kevla’s stomach growled. She laughed shakily, wiping at her wet face. Clearly, her body didn’t care about Emperors or Lorekeepers or love or duty, it just wanted food. Almost everything Sahlik had packed was dried and would travel well. Kevla would not need a fire to cook, and after what had happened, she wasn’t about to light one. She thought it would be like setting up a beacon.

She chewed on a strip of dried meat and washed it down with water. It tasted like sand in her mouth, but she forced herself to choke it down. The bread was a little easier, still soft and fresh. After she had eaten, she felt better; calmer, more in control. She sighed, then stood.

“Where are you going?” asked the Dragon.

“To collect the
Shamizan
pieces,” she replied.

“It’s dark.”

“I don’t care. It’s all I have left of him.”

“In the morning. When there is light.”

She could not argue the logic of that, although she ached to have all the pieces once again safely in their bag. It had been foolish of her to hurl them away in a fit of anger; foolish, too, to want to keep them so badly. She leaned against the Dragon’s warm, gently moving side. As the waning moon began its path across a sky crowded with stars, Kevla realized this was the first night she had spent away from her homeland. The thought was at once exciting, sorrowful, and frightening.

She had put both them and their quest in jeopardy by surrendering to her emotions. She would not make that mistake again.

She looked at the stars, her eyelids growing heavy. She would be like the stars, she thought; doing what they needed to do, shining above the world, above its cares and sorrows and trials. Kevla-sha-Tahmu flew on the back of the great red Dragon. She would do what she needed to do from that lofty perch. The earth and its pains would have no hold on her. She and the Dragon were flying north, to join with another like her, one with more experience, who could lead from now on. She knew what he looked like, had seen the blend of strength and kindness in his strong, milk-pale face.

She slept at last, and had no dreams.

Kevla winced as she moved stiff limbs and sat upright. Her hand came down on something wet and she jerked it back.

“What…” She looked at her hand, covered with small droplets, and realized her
rhia
was damp as well. “Dragon, there is water on the grass.”

As Kevla got to her feet, the Dragon too, rose and stretched, extending one leg and then the other like a gigantic cat. He chuckled slightly and Kevla blushed, embarrassed.

“I do not laugh at your ignorance, dear one, only your endearing inexperience. That is called
dew.
At night, water collects on the ground, and in the morning, with the heat of the day, it disappears.”

Kevla rubbed the little miracle between her fingers. Water, just manifesting on the ground like that. “Is this part of the Emperor’s magic?”

“No, it is simply how the world works here. You have just begun to experience how different things will seem to you. Arukan was cut off from others by the mountains, and unlike some lands, there was no trade with those from foreign places. Arukan doesn’t even have tales of anywhere else.”

Kevla gingerly touched her tongue to her finger. The Dragon was right—it
was
water. She felt her lips curve in a smile of delight.

The Dragon looked around, his golden eyes scanning the horizon. “I’m not sensing him, are you?”

Kevla’s delight vanished, much as the Dragon predicted the dew would vanish with the arrival of the sun. Her childlike enjoyment of the water that seemed to bead on every single blade of grass was forgotten as she, too, became alert. Nervously, she opened her thoughts, trying to sense the enemy in whose realm they were trespassing.

“No,” she said, aware that her voice sounded tense and heavy. “But I’m not sure what I should be trying to sense.”

His mighty head turned this way and that. His nostrils flared and a thin stream of smoke issued forth. “There is no mistaking it if you had sensed him. Nonetheless, we had best not linger.”

Kevla swallowed hard. “I suppose there isn’t time for me to gather the pieces, then.”
I deserve it for being so foolish,
she thought.

“Of course there is time,” he said. “And I will help you.”

Kevla reached up and hugged his neck.

Fortunately, the small glass pieces caught the early morning light and were not as difficult to find as she had feared. Still, it took time. The Dragon’s eyes were sharper than hers by far, but there was no way his mammoth claws could close over so tiny an item. He told her where to look and she picked up the pieces. Each time her fingers closed about the cool, smooth glass, she felt a pang of loss and remembered joy. It would have been sweet to abandon the pain associated with this game, but that would be to abandon the memory of the one she had loved with all her heart. And it was simply not possible for her to do that.

The sun rose higher in the sky, but at last, all of the pieces, nearly a hundred of them, were safely in the leather sack. Kevla looked longingly at the stream, wanting to step into its depths for a quick bath, but she knew they had tarried here too long as it was. Tearing off a hunk of bread to eat on the way, she climbed atop the Dragon’s back.

The two companions of Fire fell into a rhythm. During the day, the Dragon would make great progress, flying with only occasional stops so Kevla could stretch and grab a quick bite of food, and at night, they would come to earth so that she might seize a few hours of sleep. With each day that passed, Kevla wrestled with a new tumult of emotions. She was happy to be embarking on a journey; she missed the life she had known. She was calm and free, soaring above it all; she grieved for the man who had called her his soul. She looked forward to surrendering the burden of the quest to this stranger from the North; she shrank from meeting someone so alien to her.

The land changed as they traveled. Though Kevla never truly felt cold, it was easy to tell that the climate of the Emperor’s land was not that of the desert. The yellowed, grassy plains of the first night gave way to rich green meadows starred with flowers that looked to Kevla’s eyes like scattered jewels. Two nights after that, the Dragon landed in the only clearing in the midst of an uncountable number of trees.

Kevla dismounted, noticing that her feet landed on a soft carpet of discarded leaves. “I have never seen so many trees in a single place before, not even the groves.”

“The term used to describe such a large amount of trees is
forest,
” the Dragon explained.

Slightly dazed by the size and health of the trees—in Arukan, only fruit trees were cultivated and therefore flourished; all others were stunted, twisted things—she walked among them and touched their trunks. There were many different varieties, and their leaves were a riot of colors. Gold, red, orange, yellow—

“And I suppose you will tell me that this wonder, too, is not part of the Emperor’s magic?” she challenged the Dragon.

“No magic. Arukan is a desert country. The changes are infrequent—a rainstorm now and then, or times when it is hotter or cooler than others. Here, and in places like this, change is much more vigorous. Most places have four seasons—spring, when growth is new, summer, when growth flourishes, autumn, when there is a harvest of summer’s bounty, and winter, a time when everything lies dormant and still.”

Kevla shook her head in wonderment as she plucked a golden leaf and twirled it between her fingers. “It is hard for my head to hold all this, but my eyes do not lie.” She frowned as she mulled over something the Dragon had said.

“I can see how people would flourish in a place that has so much growth,” she said. “But this last season—this winter. It is not good, is it?”

“It’s not necessarily bad, but it is not a fruitful time. Everything goes to sleep. No crops grow, nor does fruit ripen on the tree. The animals have a difficult time finding food, as do people. Some animals fatten themselves up and sleep away the winter in a cave rather than face its harshness.”

“How does anyone survive this winter?”

“They know it is coming, and they plan for it. They harvest and store food.”

“Like we do when the men go on raids,” said Kevla.

“Exactly. Then, when the spring comes, they plant new crops, and the cycle begins again.”

Kevla smiled a little. There was something about this cycle, this sense of rhythm and steadiness, that she found comforting. Her land knew only the desert. As the Dragon had said, there were periods of flooding, cooler and warmer times, and the occasional sandstorm, but overall there was a sameness about the days and months that she only now realized was…dull.

She walked among the trees, touching the thick, soft green growth that the Dragon told her was
moss,
trying to reach her arms around a tree only to find that it was too big and therefore very old indeed. Some of the trees did not have leaves that turned color; instead their leaves took the form of needles and their scent was intoxicating, almost overwhelming.

“If the Arukani oilcrafters could capture this scent,” Kevla told the Dragon, bringing a branch to her nose and inhaling deeply, “their fortunes would be assured.”

That night, she dreamed. She was at a feast, in the hall of the Clan of Four Waters. Kevla had witnessed many such feasts in her life, but always before, she had sat behind the
khashima
she served, veiled and silent, eating only after her mistress had eaten, lifting bites of food under the veil for delicate nibbles no matter how hungry she might be.

This time, she sat in the center of the low table of dark, polished wood in a place of honor. She had no veil, and realized that this meant she was the highest-ranking female present. She reclined upon embroidered silk cushions, and knew without looking that she had her own servants sitting silently behind her. The fare was lavish—roasted meat and fowl rubbed with aromatic herbs and glazed with honey, fresh bread to sop up the juices, succulent fruits with flesh that was ripe and red, dates and olives and all manner of other delicacies.

Kevla ate and ate, laughing and talking with ease and grace, as if this was the life she had been born to live, not that of a Bai-sha child, illegitimate and unwanted. In the background she heard music, as noisy and vibrant as the feasters.

On her right was the
khashim
of the Clan, Tahmu-kha-Rakyn. Tall and strong, with aquiline features and curly black hair that still bore no touch of gray, he looked upon her with affection, and now and then reached to touch her face in a paternal gesture. There was an ease between them that had never existed in the waking world, and somehow Kevla knew that she was living the life she would have if Tahmu, her father, had claimed her as his daughter when she was a child.

She kept her eyes on Tahmu, because she sensed who was sitting to her left, and even in this dream state Kevla could not bear to look upon him. She felt his hand, tender and gentle, brush her hair back, felt sweet warm breath on her neck, and closed her eyes. It was a dream, but it was so precious. She never wanted to awaken.

I have forgotten much, Flame Dancer,
her beloved whispered. His lips nuzzled the tender spot where earlobe joined neck. She trembled, but would not open her eyes.
Tell me. Tell me—

She could deny him nothing. She never had been able to, and in this lovely dream that she yet knew was a dream, she parted her lips to tell him what he wanted to know.

Her eyes flew open in the dream as the table burst into flames. The heat and brightness caused her to cry out, to throw up her hands—

And Kevla awoke fully to feel the Dragon breathing a sheet of flame upon her. It did not hurt her, for she was flame herself. But she realized with a jolt of terror as she lowered her hands from her face what had happened.

The Emperor had violated her dreams. He had pretended to be Jashemi, her Lorekeeper, her love, and was trying to get her to reveal everything she knew.

The Dragon crouched. Kevla seized the pack and scrambled atop her friend’s back, clinging to him as he sprang into the air with more speed than she had ever experienced. Her stomach lurched and she almost lost her grip.

“We will not stop again until we are clear of the Emperor’s land,” the Dragon cried. “This attack was stronger than the ones before. One more night and he might have you.”

Kevla was furious. How dare the Emperor use her precious memories of the man she loved like that! She trembled as she clutched the Dragon, but not with fear, not this time. Instead of trying to shield her thoughts, she gathered them together and hurled them like a weapon against the faceless, nameless enemy.

You will not break me! You will not get what you want from me! And you will never, never again use my love for him against me!

She summoned fire in her mind; called it into roiling flames and aimed it directly at her attacker. To her own surprise, she felt him recoil, stumble back, withdraw overhastily from her mind.

Another tried to touch her mind now; another whose mental touch was loving and welcome.
Well done, Flame Dancer,
came the Dragon’s thoughts.
Well done indeed. He will think twice before bothering us again.

Yet I would still rather not set foot in his lands again,
Kevla thought, finding this method of communication easier with the wind whipping her hair and howling around her ears. The Emperor’s realm had seemed so pleasant, so peaceful, yet now she shuddered at the thought of her bare feet on the soil, of searching for the colored stones that represented Jashemi.

As you wish,
the Dragon replied in her mind.
But if you decide otherwise, I will set down.

No,
and her own vehemence shocked her.
Not if I were dying.

Wisely, the Dragon did not reply. Kevla settled down on his back, stretching her whole body down on the space between the spinal ridges, and clasped him.

While she did not sleep, the rest of the trip took on a dreamy, timeless air. The winds died down and eventually only a gentle breeze caressed her body and played with her hair. The Dragon flew steadily, his wings beating a soothing rhythm, and Kevla permitted her mind to drift.

“Kevla,” said the Dragon. “Look down.”

Kevla blinked and yawned, aware that the sun was starting to clear the horizon. She obeyed the Dragon’s request, glanced sleepily down—and gasped. The world beneath her was white. The white expanse stretched as far as she could see. The only relief came in the form of dark patches of forest.

“Snow!” she cried, recalling the Dragon telling her about this water that had turned so cold it had become a new substance entirely. “It must be snow!” Kevla gazed in delight as the rosy colors of dawn transformed the world beneath her.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. No, wait,” she corrected herself. “This reminds me of some stones I saw once in the market. They were white and solid, but caught the light as this does when held just so. Oh, Dragon, what is that?”

She pointed at something that looked like a silver snake twining through the vast expanse of white.

“I would say it is a river, but—”

“It is,” the Dragon said, “but it is frozen solid. It is now almost as hard as the stone you mentioned.”

“This is a marvel,” breathed Kevla. “And look, there are so many trees! But—their leaves are all gone. They look like skeletons,” she said, her voice dropping on the last word.

She was silent for a minute, drinking it all in. The more she saw of the landscape unfolding beneath her, the more uneasy she became. She thought again of the man she had come here to find. What would he be like? How would she find common ground with someone so inherently different from all she had known?

“I wonder what kind of people live in such a place?” she murmured. “People who are aware of these seasons, and plan for them. People who know heat and cold and rain and snow, and not the sand and heat and sameness of the desert.”