Dragon Fire (35 page)

“I don’t know,” Rakan said, lying for the first time. “But I do know that he believes I’m desperate, and as such will agree to anything to be free.”

“And are you?”
asked Yarlung mentally so that she could feel his reaction.

“No,”
answered Rakan calmly. Not anymore.

“Then you may tell him to proceed.”

Rakan bowed, pleased that the discussion had gone easily.

“What do you think of Jing Mei?” asked Yarlung.

“I don’t think she’s Paaliaq,” he said, bracing himself for her reaction.

“I see,” said Yarlung. “And what does T’eng Sten think?”

“I don’t know,” Rakan said, surprised by her lack of reaction. “We haven’t spoken of it.” He wished they had.

Yarlung considered him for a moment, her mind-touch gauging his emotions. “Well, if she isn’t Paaliaq then we shouldn’t kill her. I’ll take her rök. And her parents will answer for their transgression.”

Rakan nodded. “I’ll find out.”

“However, if she is Paaliaq – are you ready to kill her? I fear I am too old.”

Rakan’s rök began to spin wildly. He forced it back into submission. June wasn’t Paaliaq. He wasn’t even sure she was a full-blooded dragon anymore. “Yes,” he answered slowly.

Yarlung smiled. “Good. Then you can bind your answer to me in a blood pact.”

Moments later, Yuli appeared. Her bright green dress a stark contrast to the turquoise tinted white of Yarlung’s inner chamber. She knelt in front of Yarlung and held up a bowl made of kor, the sacred black metal of the Red Planet. A ceremonial knife flashed in Yarlung’s hand. She slashed her palm and let the blood run into the bowl. Yuli wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Silently, Yarlung turned the knife and offered it to Rakan, handle first.

Rakan stood still, his mother’s attention focused on him like a honing missile. Finally, he took the knife. He balanced it in his hands, wondering what his mother would do if he said no. He studied her blank face. She had backed him into a corner and she knew it. He was tired of being manipulated. “Why isn’t my word enough?”

“I thought you were sure she wasn’t Paaliaq?”

“She isn’t.”

“Then you risk nothing.”

Rakan stared into his mother’s unseeing eyes, hating her for forcing him to make the pact. He slashed his hand savagely and let the blood flow into the bowl. The oozing mass coagulated and bubbled. The room filled with the smell of warm iron as the bowl frothed. The sizzling stopped and a small orange water dragon swam through the lingering vapor. Rakan tried not to convulse when he saw it. He knew the physical manifestation of a blood pact was always the color of the one swearing and the shape of the one asking. But he didn’t want to see it.

Yarlung held out her hand and the miniature dragon settled on her palm. “You may go. I will place this in safe keeping until it dissolves upon fulfillment of the pact.”

Or dies with me if I refuse to honor it,
growled Rakan to himself as he stormed out of the inner chamber
.

* * *

It wasn’t until Rakan was already over the clay forests of his childhood that he realized where he was headed. He folded his wings and plummeted. He skimmed the nearly empty river bed and landed, morphing into his human shape at the same time. The teetering columns towered above him. He stood and listened to the wind, the constant companion of his youth. But instead of comforting him as it had before, it made him feel lonelier.

He shook his fists at the sky in rage, as if it could answer him. As if it could explain why his life was so complicated. Rakan watched the clouds follow their course, insensible to anything other than their own movement. Why couldn’t he be like that? The mountains began to glow orange and purple in the late afternoon sun. He tilted his head. The warmth sank into him.

“You’re hard to find,” said Angalaan, shifting ten feet in front of him. She observed the clay forest and the mountains behind them. “They feel like you. You must have spent a lot of time here.” She walked slowly in his direction.

Her indigo cape fluttered in the wind and caught his attention. He had rarely seen a dragon wear anything but their own color. And indigo was Kairök T’eng Sten’s. Jealousy raced through his veins. Her loyalty to him went beyond the fact that he carried her rök. Would he ever know that feeling?

“You do know that you’ve been the center of every conversation, don’t you?” she asked.

Rakan’s attention snapped back up to Angalaan’s fuchsia eyes. “No.”

Angalaan smiled. “You’ve begun to fill out.” She reached out to touch Rakan’s chest with both hands, never dropping her eyes from his. “Everyone wonders who you chased.”

He drew in his breath, her touch was warm. And kind. It had a gentleness to it that made his body want more. His rök began to throb, to thicken in a new way. He wanted to feel her softness, to explore the warmth of her body, to feel their necks twine around each other as they flew in the sky. “No,” he said, putting his hands on hers. He squeezed her hands and held them to his chest. His body wanted her. And she wanted him. But he didn’t love her. He dropped her hands and turned away. He should have realized that he loved Anna sooner.

“Are you concerned about T’eng Sten?” Angalaan asked quietly, coming behind him and placing her hands on his waist. The smell of cinnamon wrapped around him.

Rakan shook his head. His rök was pulling at him to morph. To chase Angalaan into the air and watch her fly away until he couldn’t see her anymore. And then he’d chase her until he caught her and they… He clenched his fists. He wouldn’t morph. He’d lose control.

“It’s okay,”
said Angalaan, connecting mentally with him through their physical contact.
“Maybe you aren’t ready for your first mating flight, even if you appear to be.”

He could feel the desire that pulsed through her body and the fact that she wasn’t acting on it made him want her even more. Had she launched into the air, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t have an uncontrolled morph. No matter how hard he tried not to.

She released him. “I hope you’ll come find me when you are.”

Rakan turned and held her gaze, too confused to say anything. He had liked feeling connected to her. And a part of him wanted to feel it again.

“T’eng Sten wants to speak with you,” she said, breaking the eye contact.

“Of course,” he said. In his anger about the blood pact he had forgotten that T’eng Sten had requested to know the outcome of his discussion with his mother.

“Until we meet again,” she said with a smile, her fuchsia eyes full of promise. Angalaan shifted back to Yarlung’s and Rakan watched the spot where she had been. His rök spinning furiously.

T’eng Sten didn’t appear right away, for which Rakan was thankful. By the time the Kairök shifted next to Rakan, he had calmed down and brought his rök back under control. “Greetings, Kairök,” he said. “I should have come to you sooner.” He bowed his head.

“Don’t worry. I remember what it feels like.” The Kairök glanced at Pemba’s chest. “You’ve begun to fill out early, even by Earth cycles. Or maybe it was your frantic chase of Kariaksuq that triggered it.”

“What?”

“A mating flight can sometimes be triggered,” said T’eng Sten, looking amused. “Or didn’t you know that? That was one of the reasons why all young dragons became kais by the time they were six cycles. It helped keep things in order.”

Rakan’s face burned. His filling out and his awakening desires were due to his unwanted reaction to Kariaksuq while he was chasing her? His nails dug into his palms. He’d track her down and kill her.

“Easy,” said T’eng Sten, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’d be better off flying Angalaan than killing Kariaksuq. And it would have the same effect.”

“No,” Rakan said vehemently.

“You’ve grown up too isolated, Rakan. Desires are natural. To love and to kill.”

Rakan shook his head. He couldn’t just fly her blindly. It wasn’t right.

“As you wish,” said T’eng Sten. “But it might help you to come into your full power. You keep your rök on too tight a leash. It’s not good for you.” He paused, a faint frown playing on his face. “If you make love with Anna now you could kill her by going wild. You know that, don’t you? Humans are fragile. You’d be better prepared if you flew Angalaan first.”

“Yarlung said you could remove the tattoos,” Rakan answered.

T’eng Sten turned away. “I thought she would. She thinks you’re betraying me?”

“Yes. She didn’t seem to question it.”

T’eng Sten examined Rakan. “She didn’t bind you in another way?”

Rakan shook his head, too ashamed to mention how his mother had manipulated him into accepting the blood pact. He knew he shouldn’t have accepted it even if he knew June wasn’t Paaliaq. But he hadn’t been able to find a way out.

T’eng Sten placed his hands on Rakan’s shoulders.
“Ready? It won’t take long.”

Rakan nodded, and the Kairök’s mind-touch sank into him. His bones felt like they were being scrapped from the inside by thousands of miniature claws. Rakan would’ve punched the Kairök if he could have reacted, but the poison had tetanized his muscles. Rakan panicked. What if it was already too late?

“It’d be easier if you relaxed,”
said T’eng Sten. His voice was firm and Rakan clung to it.
“And it’ll be easier for me.”

Rakan groaned as T’eng Sten dug in deeper.

Much later, once the sun had set and the chill of the evening began to settle around them, T’eng Sten finally pulled out of Rakan. “Yarlung’s poison was much deeper than Khotan’s.” T’eng Sten sank to the ground. “I don’t think she meant for it to be removed.”

Rakan dropped next to him. “Thank you, Kairök.” He felt like he had been flayed alive. He lay back and sank into the earth, letting its cold gelatinous mass surround him.

* * *

Anna sat in the window of Helmersen’s cafe, watching the cars go by on the slick black street that made the slushy snow on the sidewalks look even uglier. The low lying clouds pressed in on her and she felt trapped. She glanced again at the envelope that Ulf had thrown at her two days ago, still unsure of what to do. It didn’t smell like Pemba. Instead it had the heady, pungent aroma of musk. But it was sealed with a flying dragon stamped in orange wax. It looked just like the drawing Pemba had made for her.

A thick wet snow began to fall, leaving huge blobs on the window. Anna sighed. The letter couldn’t have been handed to Ulf by Dawa – she hadn’t even been to school in three weeks. And Pemba would never have asked Dawa to give it to Ulf anyway. She turned the envelope over, fingering the seal. The wax was the color of Pemba’s Maii-a. It was Pemba. Anna peered closer, wishing she could zoom in to see the details. Wishing she hadn’t run away on the mountain, assuming the worst. But she had been too angry, and then too scared to even consider slowing down.

The letter had to be from Kariaksuq. Of that she was sure. But she didn’t know if opening it would have an effect on her or not. Or would Pemba’s shield still protect her? Carefully, she began to pry the dragon off, making sure not to break it in case it was the thing that would trigger a reaction from Kariaksuq. She waited, but felt nothing. No shocks, no sparks. Thunder rumbled in the distance and Anna dropped the letter, looking up at the intense green-blue light of nightfall. She was being stupid. The seal wouldn’t set off a thunderstorm. She calmed her nerves and picked up the letter. She slid the paper out of the envelope and opened it with trembling hands.

My dearest Anna,

I know you no longer wish to see me, but I must warn you about Kariaksuq. You can’t trust her. We are at home where we are safe. No matter what happens, do not allow anyone to remove the shield I made for you or your life will be in danger. Destroy this as soon as you can or she will recognize it and attack you.

I miss your tender lips,

Pemba

PS: If you are getting this it is because Ulf can be trusted

Anna snorted. The letter was obviously a fake. Even if he was in Tromso, he would never have written Dearest Anna or that he missed her tender lips even if… even if he had kissed her. Anna looked back at the letter. The part of her that had hoped it was from Pemba was more disappointed than she wanted to acknowledge.

Anna put the envelope back in her bag and walked out into the slush, wondering what she should do with it as she walked home up the hill. Destroying it would probably alert Kariaksuq as to her whereabouts. Anna pulled up her collar. No. Kariaksuq obviously knew where she lived and how to find her. Maybe Kariaksuq had known that she wouldn’t think it was Pemba, and what she really wanted was for Anna to keep it.

Anna stopped.

Dawa was home. She’d know.

T
HE MOONLIGHT REFLECTED OFF T’ENG STEN’S
overcoat, and Rakan realized for the first time that each of the dragons embroidered into it was one of his kais. “You need to morph,” said T’eng Sten, stretching out a hand. “And so do I.”

Rakan groaned as he was pulled to his feet, but the Kairök was right. The moon was mid-sky. They had lain there for at least four hours. And he still didn’t feel any better.