Rain Wilds Chronicles (32 page)

T
HYMARA SAT ON
bare earth and stared at the flames of the cook fire. “Did any of us think we'd be doing this, a month ago? Preparing to meet dragons and escort them up the river? Or even imagine this, sitting around a fire down here on the ground?” she asked of her new circle of friends.

“Not me,” muttered Tats, always at her side. Several of the others laughed in assent. Greft, seated to her right, just shook his head.
His dark ringlets danced, as did the fleshy growths that fringed his jaw. When he had first joined their group, he'd been veiled. No one had commented. It wasn't uncommon for heavily touched men or women of the Rain Wilds to prefer a veil, especially if they were in the lower levels of Trehaug and might encounter the shocked gapes of someone strange to the city. When, on his second night with the dragon keepers, he'd finally appeared among them unveiled, even Thymara had stared. Greft was more heavily marked than anyone she'd ever seen. In his midtwenties, he had more wattles and growths than she'd seen even on the oldest folk of the Rain Wilds. The nails of his hands and feet were smooth but iridescent, and they curved like claws. His eyes were an unnatural blue and at night they unmistakably glowed. Every part of his exposed skin was heavily scaled. His mouth was nearly lipless and his tongue was blue. He moved with quiet competence, and his maturity and steadiness were attractive to her. In contrast to the boys in the group, he seemed reliable and more thoughtful.

Tonight Greft was just as quiet as the rest of them. Anticipation warred with nervousness. Another day's travel and they'd finally meet the dragons.

The committee had provided them with sturdy canoes, well sealed against the river's acid wash. They'd given them two guides, a man and a woman who always cooked, ate, and slept separately from their charges. So far, food had been provided for them, and some of the keepers had even found time to try their skills at hunting or scouting for fruit and mushrooms along their journey's path. But they had discovered that their blankets were barely warm enough for sleeping on the ground, and that the mosquitoes and stinging gnats were just as thick at river level as they'd always been told. They'd learned that down here under the trees, nights were darker, starless, and longer than any they'd known in the treetops. They'd already learned to conserve potable water and to gather fresh rainfall at every opportunity. They'd exchanged names and stories.

And somehow, in the few days that they'd been together, they'd become close.

Now Thymara looked around at the circle of faces gleaming in the firelight and wondered at her good fortune. She'd never
imagined that there would be so many people who would call her by her name, take food from her hands without flinching at her claws, and speak openly of what it was like to be so deformed by the Rain Wilds that not even one's siblings could look at one easily. They'd come from every layer of the canopy, from Trader families and families that scarcely recalled which Trader bloodline they'd originally sprung from. Some had lived hardscrabble lives and others had known education and meals of red meat and redder wine. She looked from face to face and named them to herself, counting them off as if they were jewels in a treasure box. Her friends.

There was Tats beside her, her oldest friend and still her closest. Next to him was Rapskal, still chortling at some joke he'd made, and beside him, shaking her head at the boy's endless and unfounded optimism, was Sylve. The young girl almost seemed to be enjoying his attention and endless chatter. Kase and Boxter were next, both copper-eyed and squat. They were cousins and the resemblance was strong. They were inseparable, often nudging each other and laughing uproariously over private jokes.

That was something she was discovering about the boys her age. The pranking and foolish jokes seemed constant. Right now, silver-eyed Alum and swarthy Nortel were laughing helplessly because Warken had farted loudly. Warken, long limbed and tall, seemed to be relishing the mockery rather than being offended by it. Thymara shook her head over that; it made no sense to her that boys found such things so funny, and yet their sniggering brought a smile to her face. Jerd, sitting among the boys, was grinning, too. Thymara did not know Jerd well yet but already admired her skills at fishing. She had at first been shocked when she realized Jerd was female. Nothing about her solidly built frame suggested it. What hair she had on her scaled skull she had cut into a short blond brush. Both Thymara and Sylve had tried to befriend Jerd, and she had been affable enough, but she seemed to prefer male company. Her feet and well-muscled legs were heavily scaled and scarred. Jerd went barefoot, something that few Rain Wilders would ever consider doing on the ground.

Next to Jerd were Harrikin and Lecter. They were not related, but Harrikin's family had taken Lecter in when he was seven and
both his parents died. They were as close as brothers, yet the one was long and slim as a lizard while Lecter reminded Thymara of a horny toad, squat and neckless and spiny with growths. Harrikin was twenty, the oldest in their group, save for Greft. Greft was in his middle twenties. In bearing and manner, he made the rest of them seem like boys. And Greft, with his gleaming blue eyes, closed the circle of her friends. He saw her looking at him and canted his head questioningly. A smile stretched his thin mouth.

“It's strange to look around this circle and realize everyone here is my friend. I've never had friends before,” she said quietly.

He ran his blue tongue around the edges of his mouth, and then leaned closer to her. “Honeymoon,” he warned her in his raspy voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Happens like this. I've worked as a hunter a lot. You go out with a group of fellows, and by the third day, every one of them is your friend. By the fifth day, things wear a bit thin. And by the seventh day, the group starts to fragment.” His eyes roamed over the fire-lit circle. Across from them, Jerd was in a friendly tussle with two of the boys. Warken appeared briefly to win it when he dragged her over to sit on his lap. But an instant later, she shot to her feet, shook her head at him mockingly, and resumed her place in the circle. Greft had narrowed his eyes, watching the rough play, and then said quietly, “Two or three weeks from now, you'll probably hate as many as you love.”

She pulled back a bit from him, his cynicism chilling her. He shrugged at her, sensing that he'd almost offended her. “Or maybe not. Maybe it's just for me that things always seem to go that way. I'm not the easiest fellow to get along with.”

She smiled at him. “You don't seem hard to get along with.”

“I'm not, for the right people,” he agreed with her. His smile said she was one of the right people. He extended a hand toward her, palm up, an invitation perhaps. “But I have my boundaries. I know what is mine, and I know that it's my decision whether to share it or not. And there are some things that a man just doesn't share. In a group like this, with so many youngsters, that's going to seem harsh or selfish sometimes. But I think it's only sensible. Now,
if I've hunted and been successful, and I've got enough for myself and some left over, then I don't mind sharing, and I think I've the right to expect the same of others. But you should know I'm not the sort that will short myself for the sake of being nice to someone else. For one thing, I've learned it's seldom appreciated. For another, I know that my ability to hunt is based on my strength. If I weaken myself to be a nice fellow today, perhaps all of us will go hungry tomorrow if I'm too slow or distracted to kill my quarry. So I protect my own interests today, to be in a better position to help everyone tomorrow.”

Tats leaned across her lap to speak to Greft. She hadn't even realized he'd been listening to him. “So,” he asked conversationally, “how do you tell the difference between today and tomorrow?”

“Beg pardon?” Greft said, sounding annoyed at the interruption. His affability evaporated.

Tats didn't move. He was practically lying in her lap. “How do you tell when it's today and when it's tomorrow, in terms of sharing what you have? At what point do you say to yourself, well, I didn't share yesterday, so I was strong and hunted and got some meat today, so I can share this meat today. Or do you just keep thinking, I better eat it all myself so that I'll be strong again tomorrow?”

“I think you're missing my point,” Greft said.

“Am I? Explain it again, then.” There was challenge in Tats's voice.

Thymara gave Tats a small nudge to get him to move. He sat up, but somehow he was closer to her. His hip pressed hers now.

“I'll try to explain it to you.” Greft seemed amused. “But you may not understand. You're a lot younger than I am, and I suspect you've lived by a different set of rules than we have.” He paused and glanced across the fire. Harrikin and Boxter had risen and were in a good-natured shoving match. Hands braced on each other's shoulders, feet dug into the mud, each strained to push the other back. On the sidelines, the other keepers shouted encouragement to the combatants. Greft shook his head, seeming displeased with their lighthearted play. “Life seems different when you haven't had to deal with people thinking that you don't have the right to exist.
When I was young, no one thought I was entitled to anything. I begged when I was small, and when I was a bit older, I fought for what I needed. And when I was old enough to provide for myself and perhaps do a bit better than that, some people assumed that they had the right to share in whatever I managed to bring down. They seemed to think I should be grateful that they allowed me anything at all, even to exist. So unless you've lived under rules like that, I don't think you can understand how we feel. I see this expedition as the chance to get away from the old rules and live where I can invent rules for myself.”

“Is your first new rule to always take care of yourself first?”

“It might be. But there, I told you that you probably couldn't understand. Of course, to balance that, there's something I don't understand about you. Why don't you explain to us why you're going upriver? Why are you discarding your life in Trehaug to set out with a bunch of rejects and misfits like us?” Greft made his question seem almost friendly.

Across the fire ring, Boxter triumphed. Harrikin crashed to the mud and then rolled away from him. “I give in!” he cried out, to a chorus of laughter. Both came back to take seats by the fire. The laughter died down, and quiet fell as everyone became aware of Tats and Greft staring at each other.

When Tats spoke, his voice was deeper than usual. “Maybe I don't see it that way. And maybe I didn't have the favored life that you imagine I did. Maybe I do understand you wanting to get away from Trehaug to a place where you can change the rules to suit yourself. Maybe most of us here are thinking to do just that. But I don't think the first rule I'll make is ‘me first.'”

A silence fell after Tats spoke, a silence that was bigger than the three of them. The fire crackled. Mosquitoes hummed in the darkness around them. The river rushed by as it always did, and somewhere off in the distance, a creature hooted shrilly and then was still. Thymara glanced around the circle and realized that most of the dragon keepers had focused on their conversation. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and trapped sitting between Greft and Tats, as if she represented territory to be won to one side or the
other. She shifted her weight slightly away from Tats and felt cooler air touch her where his body had been against hers.

Greft took a breath as if about to reply angrily. Then he sighed it slowly out. His voice was even, low, and pleasant as he said, “I was right. You don't understand what I'm saying, because you haven't been where I've been. Where we've all been.” His voice rose on those last words, including all of them in on what he was trying to say to Tats. He paused and smiled at him before adding, “You're just not like us. So I don't think you can really understand why we're here. Any more than I can understand why
you're
here.” He dropped his voice a notch, but his words still carried. “The Council was looking for Rain Wilders like us. The ones they'd like to be rid of. But I heard they also offered amnesty to certain others. Criminals, for example. I heard some people were offered a chance to leave Trehaug rather than face the consequences of what they had done.”

Greft let his words hang in the night like the drifting smoke from the fire. When Tats said, “I don't know what you're talking about,” his words sounded unconvincing. “I just heard the money was good. And that they wanted people with no strong ties to Trehaug, people who could leave the city without leaving obligations behind. And that described me.”

“Did it?” Greft asked politely.

It was Tats's turn to look around at the others watching him. Some were merely following the conversation, but several of them were now regarding him with a curiosity bordering on suspicion. “It did,” Tats said harshly. He stood suddenly. “It does. I've got no ties to bind me anywhere. And the money is good. I've as much a right to be here as any of you.” He turned away from them. “Gotta piss,” he muttered and stalked off into the surrounding darkness.

Thymara sat still, feeling the empty space where he had sat. Something had just happened, something bigger than the verbal sparring between the two young men. She tried to put a name to it and couldn't.
He's shifted the balance,
she thought as she glanced over at Greft. He had leaned forward and was pushing the ends of the firewood into the flames.
He's made Tats an outsider. And spoken
for all of us as if he had the right to do so.
Abruptly, he seemed a bit less charming than he had a few moments ago.

Greft settled back into his place in the circle. He smiled at her, but her face remained still. In the dancing firelight, other conversations were resuming as the keepers discussed their immediate concerns. They'd have to sleep soon if they were to get an early start tomorrow. Rapskal was already shaking out his blanket. Jerd stood suddenly. “I'm going for green branches. If the fire puts out enough smoke, it will keep some of the mosquitoes away.”