The Dragondain (16 page)

Jin giggled. “Bye-bye,” she said, squirming in Lily’s lap.

Lily clasped Jin’s two little hands, pulled them down, and held them tightly in her own.

“Shh,” hushed Lily.

Chapter Eleven

Tavin’s Last Stand

T
he
wagon ride through the narrow streets of Bairne was a slow one. Not wanting to be out in the open, Cora kept them within the city for as long as possible before entering the valley. As a result, Grimm and Falin spent their time walking in front of the wagon, clearing the crowded alleyways and streets. Riding through the poorest areas, where the inhabitants worked in the outermost fields, Lily was astonished to see mostly women and children, many with no more than rags for clothing, and not a shoe in sight. Could these really be the proud and valiant people of Dain Uncle Ebb talked about? Whatever had become of their dragon friends of old, with their mighty wings and intelligent minds? And why was Bairne bereft of perches? How had the dragons ever lived here without their tall towers to land on and take off from? How were they fed and cared for without the families who lived in the towers keeping the storerooms stocked, the grooming tools sharp, the cisterns full?

Finally they passed the last tumbledown shack, rolling over the last vestiges of wall with nary a bump. Once they cleared the haze and stink of Bairne, a band of sky opened between the sheer valley walls, revealing Taw. Filling a third of the visible sky, the moon stared down at them like a great green eye with half its forested surface lit in bright sunlight and half hidden in creeping shadow. As Lily watched the drifting shadow, she wondered what moon of the realm was responsible for it: was it Dain’s shadow, or was it cast by some other moon she couldn’t see?

Peeking around Taw was the only other moon presently visible: a smaller, partial disc of bright blue, which Lily assumed was the ocean moon Dik Dek, where the merfolk swam in their terraced, undersea cities. Back home, in Ebb’s house, there were paintings of the twin cities Pearl and Shell hanging side by side in Mr. Phixit’s twilit room. The underwater nighttime scenes were painted with luminescent pigments, so the light spilling from the many windowed balconies appeared eerily realistic and liquid. The tiny magic pearls that lit the underwater street lamps actually seemed to glow, casting their pools of trapped sunlight on the murky kelp-lined streets.

They saw no other moons until they exited the valley and rolled onto the moors. Here the sky opened wide, and Barreth, with its deep oranges and blues, as well as the white-misted Rel’ Kah, joined their sisters. Lily wanted to know what other moons might be hiding behind them. She wondered now who might be plotting their strange gyrations, and for what purposes. Surely, the Rinn lunamancer Mowra was, among other things, a lunarithmatist. Was she currently toiling away in the tower Clawforge, rapidly attempting to plot the time and place of Darwyth’s next crossover? The Rinn had great need of that knowledge; was the royal court of Dain just as curious? Obviously, Wrengfoul retained his own experts, who plotted and refigured every unexpected dip and shift, always attempting to predict when the next crossover would occur, and with which moon.

The moors ran all along the mountain range that sheltered the valley leading to Bairne. The road they rolled along was smooth and ancient. Lily had traveled this same way in the opposite direction with Dubb and Tavin, only at night. Now she could see the lay of the land, where the moors gave way to grassland peppered with clumps of woods. And where, at the horizon, the unwholesome waters of the fens lay, under thick banks of gray clouds.

As they left the moors, their vantage point above the land diminished, and in time they could see no farther than the next hillside. While riding through the trees, Lily observed the gurgling stream gaining strength.

At midday they left the old road for two ruts, which twisted deeper into the clumps of tall wood. They halted for a time there, feeding themselves and the horse, but they did not rest for long. On the road once more, Jin pointed out to Lily hidden homesteads. Time dragged on in the wagon, and the children remained unnaturally quiet.

Finally they reached old Pym’s homestead. Everyone grabbed a basket of goods, nodding quiet goodbyes to Cora—everyone except Lily.

Darce was the first one to notice. “You need some help?” she said to Lily, holding out a hand. As always, Darce seemed somewhat peeved, even as she was trying to be helpful.

Lily turned to face Cora.

“Come on, Lily,” prompted Darce, “jump down. Cora doesn’t have all day.”

Lily glanced at Darce, then back to Cora. “I’m not going with them, am I?” she asked.

Cora gazed steadily back. An air of expectation hung in the air. “That’s your decision,” she said firmly.

Lily looked at Darce again, not sure what to say.

“Fine. Suit yourself,” said Darce. She turned away from the wagon and stalked off.

Lily secured the remaining baskets, then climbed from the back of the wagon to where Cora sat with the reins.

“You know Rinnjinn!” Lily said, as soon as they were safely rolling again.

Cora gave her a sideways glance. “Rinnjinn?” She shook her head.

“But you’re Illume!” Lily protested.

Cora laughed lightly. “Not exactly. It’s more like . . . I
become
Illume. It isn’t something fully under my control.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lily.

“I get a feeling, when I know I can become her. I’ve only experienced it a few times. The first time—”

“—was at the Gate of Olamar.”

A shadow passed over Cora’s face. “Yes,” she said, “that was the first.”

“And the second time?” asked Lily.

“The second time . . .” Cora’s attention turned to the road. “Each time it’s happened, it’s taken me by complete surprise.”

“So, no Rinnjinn,” said Lily despairingly.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Lily bowed her head, unhappy that yet another trail to Ebb’s bedtime tales had gone cold.

They rode in silence for a time, through grassy fields, winding around sporadic clumps of tall trees.

“You’re worried,” said Cora.

“Yes.”

“About Tavin?”

“No,” said Lily, and she was a bit surprised to realize this was true.

“Curse?” asked Cora.

“Yes. It tried to kill me.”

Cora smiled. “Don’t think yourself special on that account, but I’m glad you understand who your enemy really is. I’ve known Tavin almost all my life. Curse has been wearing on him for a very long time, but somehow he’s always prevailed.”

“It’s different now, though, isn’t it?”

Cora pursed her lips and contemplated. “Curse’s suppression of Tavin’s memories, its talking through his mouth—those things—yes. But whether talking through Tavin’s mouth or the steel of his sword, it’s always had the ability to affect Tavin’s free will when drawn. The difference, now, I fear, is Tavin.”

“Because he’s weakened?” asked Lily.

“Because he’s dying. Of course, it’s a miracle he’s survived this long.”

Lily looked at Cora questioningly.

“Before meeting Tavin, Curse was quite happy traveling through the ages, moving from hand to hand, bringing death to its hapless victims almost as though it was eager to meet the next one.”

“Why hasn’t it killed Tavin?”

“That’s a very good question. In the beginning, we felt certain it would. Tavin began making mistakes . . . with his sword . . . can you imagine it?” Lily shook her head. “One day, he nearly took his own foot off. But, somehow, Tavin learned to manage it.”

“Like a cat with nine lives.”

“Make that a couple thousand; I’ve seen him shed a dozen in just one day’s battles.”

“How did Curse come to be? Who made it?”

“Impossible to know for certain. Curse is a curious thing, and quite beyond me. I do know that it’s very old. In fact, I suspect it’s the oldest thing I’ve ever met. And I can assure you that I’ve met a lot of very old things. But whatever it is, and however it came to be, I no longer believe it is what was intended. I’m not even entirely sure it was meant to be wicked. I think it’s become twisted from its original purpose.

“Curse has seen many things—things I’m sure it would prefer to keep hidden for all time. More than once, I’ve tried to reveal them, but it is far too strong for me. Tavin, however, has survived with it far longer than anyone. Much longer, I believe, than Curse would like. At times, Tavin
sees
things that I’m sure Curse would rather keep hidden.”

“You mean like memories?”

“Memories . . . or thoughts. Tavin can feel its fear of him—and of you.”

“Me?!”

“After you left, but before Tavin was bedridden, he asked me to sit and listen to a conversation between him and Curse. A most unpleasant undertaking, I assure you. It didn’t take long for Tavin to uncover its malevolence towards you. He talked to it for a long time, trying to understand the reason, but in the end we learned nothing.” Cora looked away, suddenly lost in thought, as though she were trying to remember something.

“What if Tavin is still alive because Curse wants him alive?”

Cora laughed. “And why would it want that?”

“Perhaps Tavin and it struck a bargain,” said Lily.

Cora stopped laughing. “A bargain,” she murmured.

“And why would it fear me? I don’t know anything about it!”

“If we knew why Curse feared you—well, that would be revealing. It might give us something we could use to our advantage. However, lacking that knowledge, we have nothing more than a bluff.” Cora looked at Lily pointedly. “Never bluff with something more powerful than you, Lily. Things more powerful than yourself can
feel
when your bluff is nothing more than a hollow threat, and they will make it your undoing.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“There is power in you—I can feel it.” Lily felt for the reassuring lump of the moon coin under her shirt. “You must be on your guard at all times.”

“Cora—” Lily tugged on the necklace and drew forth the pendant that contained the moon coin, “
this
is the only power I have, this moon coin. And I barely know how to use it.”

Cora gave Lily an odd look. “Well, then, keep it close. And as for Curse, respect it, fear its designs, but keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Open for what?”

Cora smiled. “For whatever presents itself.”

“Really, Cora, why are you—” Then Lily realized what Cora was thinking. “You think Curse is going to want to talk to
me
today.”

Cora said nothing.

“But Tavin’s on Raewyn’s ground. Won’t that give him strength? Protect him or something?”

“Tavin’s dying, Lily. And strangely, Curse is unhappy about that.”

“But, if Tavin dies, won’t Curse be free of him? I mean, you’re making it sound like Curse has become somehow bound to Tavin.”

“A keen observation, if true.”

“Do you really think Tavin will die?”

Cora’s face became solemn. “I swear I have seen him die—many, many times. I’ve felt the suddenness of my breath drawing in, knowing I’d just seen his last moment on this mortal world, only to realize my eyes had somehow deceived me. Were he to hold the luck of a thousand men, he yet would be dead.”

“And today?”

“Today?” Cora set her face grimly. “Today has been coming for a long time.”

“But—” began Lily, suddenly feeling the enormity of Tavin’s plight. “It’s not Tavin’s fault!”

Cora pulled the reins and checked the wagon. “Everyone has his time, Lily. I always knew Tavin would go down in a fight. I just didn’t think he’d be fighting an illness. Now, we’re here. Stay close, and be very careful about what you say and do.”

Raewyn’s home was so integrated with the landscape surrounding it that it was difficult to distinguish where one began and the other ended. Lily suspected some type of lunamancy; it was as though the house were deliberately hiding. Walking past a tree, Lily suddenly noticed a stable full of animals that hadn’t been there just a moment before.

In a small clearing outside Raewyn’s front door, she recognized the group of people she had met the night Tavin slew the dragon. She tried to catch their eyes as she passed Andros and his wife, Jemma; Quib; Boots; Bel; Arric. There were others as well, all hard at work building a great pyre. And Lily was certain she caught the soft sounds of a woman sobbing, somewhere out among the trees.

Just as Cora reached for the doorknob, Lily grabbed her arm. Lily willed Cora’s eyes to the pyre. Cora swung her face in its direction, but would not look at it. Instead, she turned to Lily, whose face had gone dark with questions.

“Come, Lily. I have no power over this.”

Raewyn’s house, like Keegan’s, was all wood, stone, and living trees. Lily followed Cora through a narrow hallway, passing through several rooms before entering a space that reminded her of Gwen’s root cellar back on the farm. Wooden shelves and cabinets lined the walls. Roots and leafy matter hung down from beam and branch. The shelves were crowded with odd containers: small wooden boxes of medicinal herbs, smoky vials full of dark liquids, bits of what looked like bone. In the center of the room, on a large wooden table, lay a lifeless Tavin, his elbows and legs bound to the corners of the table. His dragon leggings had been peeled back to the knee. Below one kneecap, a long neat cut, well sealed, traveled down his leg. The muscles in his shoulders, neck, and chest were tensed and stood out like cords. The muscles in his arms were equally taut, and his hands were balled fists. His still form looked like something carved from pale wax.

Dubb stood in the shadows, staring grimly at him. Raewyn’s back was turned, but from the sound she was making, and the workings of her elbows, she appeared to be hard at work with a mortar and pestle.

“I thought you sent for Keegan,” said Cora to Dubb.

“I did.”

“But I saw Quib and Andros outside just now.”

Dubb started, his eyes suddenly alert. “Marred must have sent them on ahead.” Dubb pushed past Cora and Lily. “They must be close.” He hurried from the room.

“I hope Keegan’s all right. He’s too old to be traveling so quickly,” said Raewyn. She turned, and her eyes immediately fell upon Lily. “Who do we have here?”

“Raewyn, this is Lily Winter, Lord Ebbram’s niece.”

Exhausted, Raewyn stared at Lily, but she could not muster a response. She ran an already-damp sleeve over her sweaty brow and turned back to her mortar and pestle.

“Have you and Dubb been arguing?” asked Cora.

“Ever since he arrived. This is the first time he’s left Tavin’s side.”

“I see,” said Cora, stepping closer to Tavin and examining the smooth scar on his leg. “What have you learned, Raewyn? What’s wrong with him?”

Raewyn stopped grinding and slowly laid the pestle on the counter, joining Cora at Tavin’s side.

“I’m no closer now than before,” she said softly. “He’s always healed so quickly in the past. I’ve never seen him sick for more than a day . . . before this.”

Cora formed her peerin. “The scabbard is affecting my peerin’s ability to view him.”

“Are you certain? How can you tell?” Raewyn placed one hand over the other, palms facing away from her, and pulled them apart—thumb to thumb, forefinger to forefinger—until she had made the squat triangle shape of a healer’s peerin.

Cora made a face. “I don’t know what you would call it. But I’m looking in an area we call the tenth house. It’s where the forces of tarn combine.”

Raewyn shook her head slowly. “Forces of tarn? Tenth house? What colors are they?”

“Our colors are all different,” said Cora. Raewyn raised an eyebrow. “At least, that’s what Annora says.”

“And how would Annora know that?”

“Annora and Nye have been working together. They’ve tried to teach me things. I’m afraid I haven’t been very attentive.”

“Maybe we could bring in Annora and Nye,” said Dubb, entering the room again and taking his post. “I mean, if there’s a chance, shouldn’t we look into it?”

Raewyn and Cora looked up doubtfully from their peerins. Dubb sighed, making a gesture of futility, and turned to Lily, as though seeing her for the first time.

“Lily. What about you? You helped Ember mend my moon sword. She said you saved her life.”