Silent Hall (13 page)

“Although the Dragon Touched deal harshly with those few of their own kind who have abandoned their God, even these dissenters are to be regarded with the utmost suspicion. Having betrayed their God and their people, they are the lowest and meanest of the world's creatures. Do not trust them, but slay them immediately.

“The words of Gardanon, Friar of Atel, in the year 7393. Be warned.”

By the time he finished reading, Criton looked truly sick. His face had turned yellowish and Hunter thought he might vomit, but somehow he contained himself.

“It's all lies,” he said at last, his voice shaking.

“It's probably exaggerated,” Narky said, “but how do you know they're
all
lies? Your mother was one of the ones who left. Maybe she left home for a reason. I mean, how much do you really know about your relatives?”

In a flash, Criton seized Narky by the neck, his claws leaving marks in the flesh of the young man's throat.

“Criton, stop!” Hunter shouted, his hand falling automatically to his sword.

Criton turned his head to face him, a hunted look in his eyes. “None of it is true,” he choked.

“I know,” Hunter said, though he knew nothing of the sort. “But let Narky go.”

Criton did as he was told and then collapsed on the bed, sobbing. Narky breathed heavily and rubbed his throat, but he abstained from speaking.

Hunter wasn't sure what to think. It was hard to deny that Criton had trouble controlling his feelings, especially anger. Could this be a symptom of his draconic nature? Hunter liked Criton, and that made him want to make excuses for him. Was he being naïve?

Being Dragon Touched definitely made Criton more dangerous. There were plenty of full-blood humans who could not control their anger, but they also could not breathe fire. Hunter's instincts told him that Criton was not a danger to him or to the other islanders. Either Gardanon had been exaggerating, or Criton was different from his ancestors.

“None of it is true,” Criton was repeating to himself.

“Of course it's not true,” Hunter said, trying to reassure him. “The writer never gives you a chance. He says to kill the Dragon Touched no matter what, without even talking to them. But if he never talked to them, how does he know what they're like?”

“Right,” Narky said. “All I was saying is that it's hard to tell what's true from what isn't. The Dragon Touched must have oppressed the people of Ardis, at least, or the people wouldn't have had any reason to hate them.”

Criton's eyes flashed, but he contained himself this time. Any angry or aggressive move he made, he seemed to realize, could be seen as confirmation of Gardanon's words against his people.

None of them said anything for a time. Hunter would have to think about this. Was he right to discount Gardanon's warning, or was he letting his loyalty to his only countrymen cloud his judgment? He would have to be twice as vigilant going forward. If Gardanon was right about the Dragon Touched, then Criton could not be trusted. Even if Gardanon was wrong, the islanders were still in greater danger than they had known: Criton had enemies in the world, enemies who had never even met him. He would need more protection than Hunter had realized.

B
andu did not understand
why Phaedra was giving her so much trouble. She had too many rules. Don't take your coverings off. Don't let bugs live in your hair. On and on.

Now Phaedra was angry because she hadn't stayed in the room when Bandu and Criton were kissing, and for some reason this was Bandu's fault. It made no sense. When Four-foot's kind were in heat, they mated in front of each other without any trouble. It seemed that Bandu's kind were not even supposed to kiss in front of others, which struck her as more than a little ridiculous.

“I don't want to see it, I don't want to know about it,” Phaedra said, which was very strange because Phaedra obviously wanted to know everything. She asked Bandu about the kissing, and about what else had happened, and insisted the whole time that she did not want Bandu to tell her. It was very confusing, so Bandu decided to trust Phaedra's words and didn't tell her anything. This seemed to annoy Phaedra even more, but there was nothing Bandu could do about that. She thought Phaedra should decide what she wanted already, and not say anything until after she had made up her mind.

Bandu would not have been able to explain herself anyway. Phaedra asked Bandu questions using words Bandu had never heard before. When Phaedra finally became frustrated and went to sleep, Bandu sighed in relief.

She stayed awake some time on her own, thinking about Criton. He understood her. They were both wild things, and they fit so well together. She wanted to mate with him, but he did not seem ready for that yet. That was all right; he would be ready soon. She knew it.

Bandu woke up happy and excited, but Criton was different that day. He could barely look at her, and she felt his fear. Why wouldn't he look at her? It had something to do with the dried animal skin, the one he gave to Phaedra to look at. The spirit inside was a bad one. Phaedra looked at the skin and became angry.

“This is pure poison,” she said at last. “It's so full of hatred, you can't even tell which parts are skewed by his perspective and which are completely made up!”

Criton did not look any happier, and Phaedra said, “You didn't take it as the plain truth, did you?”

He shook his head, but then said, “It doesn't matter if it's true. It's what Gardanon said. It's what people think. That my mother's people were greedy and selfish and ate children. It's what they see when they look at me. It's what
he
saw when he looked at me.”

They were bad, they were wicked, these dry animal skins. They made Criton sad and angry, and they made him not hers. She wanted to take the sharp thing the horse riders had given her and tear that animal skin to pieces. Then Criton would be free to love her again.

Instead, Criton took the skin back to Psander so that he could yell at her. “You said this was a history!” he said. “You gave me a scroll of evil, vicious,
awful
lies about my people and this is my
reward
for helping you?”

Psander raised her hands to stop his shouting. “I gave you what I promised. If it was not what you wanted, you may blame yourself.”

Little licks of flame came from Criton's mouth. “It's not a history! It's a pack of lies!”

“That
is
a history,” Psander said. She did not yell, but her voice was hard. “If you want something else, then don't ask me for any more histories. History is not truth. A history is just a piece of writing about the past, and a good history will teach you about the present too. The truth of Gardanon's writing is this: Gardanon existed, and he wrote about a visit to Ardis. He told us what he believed, or what others believed, or what he wanted us to think he believed. Either way, the scroll tells us what he, living at his time, thought that we should know. His history is the truth he wanted, and it was preserved because it was the truth that others wanted too. So don't bring your anger to me because you wanted someone to tell you your people were loved and respected. I offered you a history, and that's exactly what I gave you.”

Her voice grew calmer as she spoke, but Criton was not calm. “You wanted me to know that I'm hated.”

Psander answered him sharply. “You don't think that's something you should know? You would prefer to walk into Ardis one day, asking about dragons?”

Criton had nothing to say to that. Bandu hated this, she hated all of it. Why couldn't he have smiled today, and been angry another day? She had thought today would be happy and special.

Phaedra said, “This history is poison.”

“Many histories are poison,” Psander told her. “They are so poisonous and so insidious that you often don't even recognize them. You didn't believe that a woman could be a wizard, because nobody ever told you that it was possible. Why? Do you think I am the only woman who has ever become one? I am not. You love to read, girl, but you obviously do not read carefully enough. The authors of all your scrolls, and all of mine, wrote what they wanted people to know, and no more. Some knew more than they said, and some said more than they knew. Some lied intentionally. It is not our job, as seekers of wisdom, to take what we read for the whole truth.

“Take, for example, the sage Katinaras of Tarphae. Yes, Katinaras, your favorite. There was once a man named Phalendron who claimed to have interviewed the sage's parents. According to Phalendron, your beloved author of religious philosophies disappeared from his bed at the age of six and reappeared just as mysteriously three years later. His parents thought he had been kidnapped by elves. And yet Katinaras never once wrote about his disappearance. Apparently, he did not want anyone to know – yet you consider him a trustworthy source.”

For a time, Phaedra's control of her language was worse than Bandu's. “That's not pos – you can't be – I mean, there's, that's – you can't say–”

Psander cut her off, turning back to Criton. “Perhaps I should have warned you what you would be reading about beforehand. I apologize if you were expecting something else. If you want something unendingly positive about dragons, read something by the Dragon Knight. I offered you a history and you accepted my terms, so that is what I gave you.”

Phaedra bowed her head and didn't say any more. Bandu was glad. She didn't want to talk to Psander anymore. It was a good thing the talking was over.

“Well,” said Narky, when they were all back in the room where Bandu and Phaedra slept. “She really sent us off with our tails between our legs.”

Bandu had never heard this saying before, but it was one that she instantly understood. Tails between our legs! She would remember that.

“I wonder who this Dragon Knight was,” Criton said. He was less angry now, but Bandu could see that there was still something wrong. She wished she really had torn that dried skin. Maybe it would have helped.

“I'm sure Psander will tell us all about it,” Narky said, “once we've nearly killed ourselves bringing her some God-forsaken thing from her list.”

“When I get the chance,” Phaedra offered, “I'll see if I can find anything about him in Psander's library.”

Bandu did not want any more of this conversation. “I walk outside,” she said, and left them there to talk.

She met Psander on the stairs, nearly walking right into her. “You,” she said. “You are wicked. You make promises to me, and to Criton, and you don't give. Why we help you?”

“You're wrong,” Psander answered her. “I
have
helped Criton, even if he doesn't know it yet. I admit that I have had little time so far to research expeditions to the underworld for you, but I do have a scroll or two I could lend you…”

“No!” Bandu shouted at her. “I don't want animal skin – I want Four-foot!”

She stormed past the wizard and left the tower.

She had only just reached the gates when Criton came out of the tower door and called for her to wait. She did not wait. With a heave, she swung back one side of the heavy gate and walked out into the morning sun. Criton could run to catch up.

Her stomach growled, which made her angry. They were weakening her with their regular meals. When she had lived in the forest with Four-foot, she had never been this hungry so soon after eating.

Outside of Silent Hall, the world came to life. There were sheep and goats in the fields, and Bandu watched a hawk dive out of the sky to catch something small and furry and delicious. Then Criton caught up with her. He was a little out of breath, and annoyed for having had to run.

“Why didn't you wait for me?” he demanded.

Bandu shrugged. “I don't like it there. Everyone is talking, talking, talking. Like Psander. Psander loves to talk.”

“Well, you could have invited me to come with you instead of just running off.”

Bandu studied his face. He was hurt.
He
was hurt. “You don't want me today,” she said. “You are angry because of animal skin. Why you need wicked animal skin? Everything Psander has is bad. You can take one from Phaedra. They only take her away a short time, and she is not angry when she comes back.”

Criton looked confused. “That doesn't make any sense, Bandu. Phaedra doesn't have any scrolls about dragons. What would I need her scrolls for?”

“I don't know!” Bandu screamed at him in frustration. “I don't know why you need any! Why
she
needs them? They are wicked and you shouldn't take them! They take people away, and give them back sad or angry or just the same! They're no good. You should, you should
burn
them.”

She did not think Criton listened to her, because he laughed. She pounded his chest with her fist. “Not funny! No laughing!”

To her surprise, Criton hugged her. “Thank you,” he said.

“You don't listen,” she said into his chest.

“I do,” he told her. “I'm sorry. I should have realized that you don't know about reading.”

He let her go. “Bandu, the scrolls don't take people away. People write on them. They make these symbols, these, um, these little pictures that people can read. The pictures are all words, just like you would say, but instead of saying them out loud, you can write them – draw them – on a parchment or a piece of bark or anything really, and then anyone can pick it up and read it and they can know what you said. I can show you when we go back inside.”

Bandu turned away. “I don't want to.”

“But Bandu – well, all right, it's not important right now.” They walked quietly together for some time, feeling the hot sun and the warm breeze, and the grass against their ankles.

Criton was not happy; she could feel it when she walked beside him. He wasn't angry anymore, but he was tense from top to bottom. Finally, he stopped walking. “Bandu? Did I – did I seduce you?”

The question made him very uncomfortable, which was frustrating because Bandu had no idea what it meant. “What is seduce?” she asked him.

“Never mind,” he said, and started walking again.

She could not take any more of this. “Why are you sad? Criton?”

He shook his head, and for a moment Bandu was worried that he wouldn't tell her what was wrong. “You're right,” he said at last. “That was a wicked scroll. Really, truly evil. The thing is, I don't know how much of it is true! I know I said it was all lies, but the fact is, I barely know anything about my family. Maybe they were as bad as the scroll says. Maybe I inherited some of it from them. Ma was afraid I would kill her husband. That can't be normal, can it? I mean, maybe we
are
all cruel and violent and lustful, just like the scroll says.”

She wished he would speak in smaller words. Inherited, violent, lustful – what was he trying to say? All Bandu could tell was that he thought he was bad because of the skin, the scroll.

“You are not wicked,” she said.

Criton wasn't satisfied. “But what if I
had
killed him? I wanted to. I was almost ready to. What if we are all like that?”

Bandu looked him dead in the eye. “Your mother is like that? She kill people?”

“No!”

“Then why you think you are like that? You get sharp hands from her and scales from her and eyes from her. You think you are wicked too, because of her? If she is good, how she makes you wicked?”

Criton looked so relieved, it was beautiful. Bandu tasted victory. She was chasing Psander's wickedness out of his soul. At least here, with him, she was stronger than Psander and her animal skins.

“My Ma was never angry,” Criton said. There was a tear in his eye. “She was always very sad, all my life, but she was never angry. I was angry all the time. Her husband beat us, and he threatened to kill us, and I just wanted to, I just wanted to…”

“He give you angry part,” Bandu said. “Sharp hands come from her, angry come from him.”

He looked at her with surprise. He would think about himself differently now, because of her. Psander's wickedness was gone, and maybe his father's wickedness was starting to die too.

“You know, you're wonderful,” Criton said.

“I know,” Bandu told him.

They walked on. “I think some of what that scroll said must be true,” Criton said, but he was not angry or frightened anymore. “My family really did control Ardis for a long time; maybe some of them were as bad as the people thought. And I don't know anything about their God. My mother didn't even tell me about Him.”

He went on talking about the scroll and his family, but Bandu was no longer worried, so she did not listen very closely. He was hers again, that was what mattered. She could protect him and he could protect her, just as it had been with Four-foot – except that Criton would also be her mate. What could be better?

She liked his eyes and his golden scales. The way they shone against his dark skin was so beautiful, she thought. His sharp hands felt a little strange when he touched her, but she knew that they could tear her enemies to pieces, and that was important. Her enemies were the ones who put bad thoughts on animal skins, the ones who wanted Criton to hate himself. Bandu wanted to tear them limb from limb. And one of these days, she would.