Dragon's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 4) Page 11

  Yup, Tsai would’ve won that bet. “You want to name it?”

  The slithering toad finally looked at her. “This one shall bequeath that privilege to the hatchling.”

  Weaver’s cold toes. Nobody wanted to take responsibility around here. “I’m gonna call it Izzy.” She slammed the door down, huffed out a breath, and shook the reins.

  ∞∞∞

  Getting up the blood-woven hill turned out to be harder than she thought possible. Getting the wagon stuck, though. That was easy.

  Driving between that pair of scrawny fir trees on such a steep hill was her first mistake. She knew they’d be a tight fit. She should’ve gotten down and measured. But it was the only open spot in the whole thicket and this pair looked so little. And they were right on the edge of a meadow surrounded by bigger trees.

  All of the wagon did fit. Except for the hubs sticking out of the back wheels, and those were stuck so tight, cutting down the trees might not free them. She might need to dig them out by the roots.

  The team couldn’t go forward. And no matter how much she rattled the reins and yelled, they refused to back up. Was the hill too steep?

  Back down the way she’d come, wheel tracks slithered up the mountain like one of the toad’s snaky trails. Around boulders, between trees, back and forth in little switchbacks, up and up and up.

  They were higher up now than she’d guessed. No wonder the nags were worn out. Sweat poured off them like rain.

  The kid never let the team get lathered up like that.

  She swallowed hard. Wearing the roans out wasn’t taking care of her tools, nor respecting the kid’s belongings. She was letting him down.

  The horses gotta rest. She’d get the wagon loose later.

  She crawled down from the driver’s bench and shambled forward to unharness the team.

  Even after the traces were off, Periwinkle didn’t bother to lift his head until she slipped the bit out of his mouth and the bridle clear off his face. Even then, he didn’t move much.

  She tried to check the mare’s hooves, but Poppy leaned hard against her, knocking them both off balance. She landed on her rear in the soft soil.

  Poppy staggered forward.

  Lorel scrambled out of the way. Weaver’s cold toes, the mare’s knees were shaky. That didn’t look healthy.

  Maybe the horses were just hungry.

  She tottered to her feet, rubbed Poppy’s forehead, and scratched under Periwinkle’s chin. Crooning softly, she tugged at their manes and urged them into the clearing.

  The horses plodded only a few steps into the meadow. They stood shuddering, heads drooping, too tired to crop at the grass.

  What an ogre she’d become. But maybe she could make it up to them. She trudged back to the wagon, fetched two large buckets out of the trunks, filled them with water from the cask, and hauled them to the horses.

  The water smelled pretty stale, but the roans drained the pails and stood straddle-legged, just staring at the grass.

  They better not die on her. The kid wouldn’t never forgive her.

  She lugged the buckets back to the wagon and filled them again. Some rags spilled out of the trunk, so she stuffed them inside her shirt. Maybe getting dry would make them feel better.

  The horses emptied the pails again. Poor tired critters.

  Her guilt faded while she rubbed their fur dry. She swore on her swords she’d pay better attention to them from now on. They didn’t deserve to be treated the way Nasties treated Zedisti folks.

  Finally the roans stepped away to chomp on wildflowers. That gave her hope they’d recover quick enough.

  Now to fix her original problem.

  She trotted back and glared at the wagon. Or rather, at the wagon’s rear wheels.

  On both sides, the hubs squeezed against a fir tree tighter than the kid ever snuggled with the toad. The team never had no chance to pull the overgrown wheelbarrow forward.

  Weaver bless them roans for refusing to back up. Forcing them to back down a slope this steep was one of her dumber ideas.

  It was a Loom-tangling steep hill. It was fraying amazing they’d gone so far in one day. She definitely didn’t want the wagon to roll down it backwards.

  She grabbed a crowbar out of the bottom trunk, pried up the biggest rocks she could find, and stacked them behind the rear wheels.

  Kyri-thing stuck its head out of the nearest window.

  The miswoven snake always knew when she was busy. “I’d like to know how you can work the shutters with no fingers.”

  “This one has other implements at its disposal.”

  “Thread-snipping magic.” Lorel kicked one of the firs trapping the wagon. “Can you magic a tree away?”

  “This one suggests –”

  “That sounds like a no. Shut up and go away, toad.”

  Kyri-thing stared at her. It dipped its head and slid inside. The window’s latch snicked into place.

  Good. She didn’t need no bossy toad ragging at her.

  She kicked the tree again.

  A pinecone bounced off her head. “Hey!”

  Shrill chattering echoed overhead.

  She glanced up, and ducked another pinecone.

  A scrawny red squirrel bounced higher in the fir and scolded her.

  She put her hands on her hips and backed out of range. “You better scoot or you’re gonna be toad food.”

  The squirrel chattered angrily. It yanked another cone off the tree, dashed out to the end of the branch, and hurled it at her.

  The sticky green cone bounced at her feet. It came out of a snipping fir tree, so it must be a fir cone.

  Fraying fir trees. At least the toad never found out about the nest. But they did sway pretty good. Maybe if she climbed the tree and yelled at the horses–

  Another cone bounced off her shoulder. The squirrel shrieked and scolded.

  Nah, she had a better idea.

  Lorel stalked to the far side of the wagon and tapped on the window shutters.

  The legless lizard waited until she had stepped back to open the window and poke its head out.

  If only she could read the expression in its snaky blue eyes. “Um, toad?”

  “This one hearkens to the anchor.”

  “After I get the team harnessed up, how about you climb one of these trees?” She felt her face turning red. “You can shake the tree so as the wheel gets loose. And eat that miswoven squirrel while you’re up there.”

  “This one opines the earth children are improvidently exhausted to extricate this conveyance.”

  She leaned her forehead against the wagon and counted to ten. Twice. “Little words, please.”

  Kyri-thing reared up so fast it bumped its head on the window sill. It blinked at her. “The earth children are too tired to free the wagon.”

  She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Backwards. “I meant tomorrow, toad.”

  The legless lizard dipped its head maybe a quarter of an inch. “This one shall endeavor to assist the swordling upon dayspring.”

  “Did that mean ‘yes’?” She looked up at the snake and forcibly smoothed away a frown. It wouldn’t never help her if she smacked it as hard as she wanted to, but she couldn’t plaster a smile on her face, no matter what her mother said about vinegar and honey.

  Kyri-thing blinked again and retreated into the wagon. The latch snicked.

  Stupid toad. Shaking her head, Lorel marched to the middle trunk and hauled out her never-worked-yet bunny snares. A green cone smacked against her shoulder. She spun and snarled up into the tree. “I sure hope the toad eats you tonight!”

  The blood-woven squirrel bounced a fir cone off her forehead.

  Chapter 15.

  “If you touch my egg I’ll mash every bone in your body!”

  Viper jerked awake and sat up. “What?” Who was yelling at him?

  Where was he? Why was he lying on cold stone inside a dark cave? With a dragon yelling at him?

  Blast, it was just Leysamura being
cranky again. Falling asleep out on the shelf hadn’t been one of his better ideas.

  He hunched into a squat, ready to flee into the tunnel.

  Still huddled over her nest, she rattled her wings. Dry grass flitted across the cavern. “Not only will I mash you, I’ll make sure you live to regret you ever looked at my egg!”

  He yawned widely, but kept a watchful eye on the irate mother. “What did I do to deserve such threats? I’ve yet to see your precious egg.”

  Her head reeled back. “That’s beside the point. I’m hungry.”

  The female sounded like Lorel after his turybird missed a couple of meals. “I imagine you are. You’ve slept for days.” He shook his finger at her and tried not to laugh. “But mind you, my person will not satisfy your hunger.”

  The dragon snorted. “I’d never notice that I’d eaten anything if I ate you. But I’ll mash you, and you’ll notice that, if–”

  “If I touch your egg.” He rolled his eyes. “I heard you the first time. Go get something to eat before you forget yourself and make an omelet.”

  “You vulgar little salamander.” She curled protectively around the egg and glared at him, but sighed deeply. “I’m famished.”

  Leysamura unwound from the egg, trotted to the cavern opening, and cast herself on the wind.

  Viper smiled after her. “Such threats. She sounds just like my mother, Wind Dancer bless her breath and bones. Now, what does that precious egg look like?” He strolled to the edge of his shelf, safely twenty feet above and thirty feet away from the perilous egg.

  It stole his breath away. Soft red overall, it had pale rose teardrops encircling the pointed end, with stripes around the middle and wide ovals around the thick end. It had a true point on one end, more like a bahtdor egg than a bird egg.

  It was much bigger than he was. He suspected it outweighed Tsai’dona’s horse.

  The shell hadn’t hardened. It shifted and wiggled as though its occupant were moving about. Bahtdor eggs undulated in much the same fashion.

  It reminded him of his years tending the herd. A bahtdor cow carried a pair of eggs inside her body for most of the gestation, laying them only a few days before hatching time. Each egg rested in the warm grass, swaying and wiggling, until the calf decided to fight its way out. It was a short battle. If the calf took more than half an hour to escape, it died.

  When he was ten, he tried to help an overdue calf out of its shell. He still got queasy when he thought about the pitiful, distorted creature inside. He’d retched for hours.

  Over the years, he’d noticed light markings on some bahtdor eggs. Spirals and swirls, stripes and circles. And teardrops. All very nearly the same grass gold as the rest of the egg, almost invisible.

  Similar marks were highly visible on the red dragon egg.

  Could dragons and bahtdor be related, somewhere in the distant past? Very distant, since bahtdor didn’t have wings, and were only a tenth of Leysamura’s size. Could dragons be magically enhanced cousins?

  It wasn’t likely. Dragons could talk. Setoyans ate the bahtdor. The mere thought of eating a dragon’s cousin gave him the shivers.

  He summoned a will-light and wandered into the tunnel to retrieve his carvings and tools, but his mind was more on improbable relationships than on his work. Did he dare ask Leysamura if there was a connection? He snorted at himself. Did he want to get mashed?

  Besides, he had an assignment to practice, if he wanted her to teach him anything new.

  He sat down next to his pile of diamond chips and pulled off his padded boot. The first step in this lesson was to see the ghost of his foot.

  He saw his blue-tinged calf. Thunderer, it was cold in here. He saw his reddened stump of an ankle. And he saw air where his foot should be.

  So how did he find his foot’s ghost?

  Staring at it didn’t work. Rubbing his hand across the stump just made his flesh ache. What was left?

  He’d only seen it by accident before, and then in the Sedra-Kei library, where he didn’t dare experiment. But the library was a magical place. Was magic what he needed?

  Looking for it by will-light didn’t help. What was left?

  Darksight.

  He dismissed the will-lamp and peered at his stump in the gloom.

  And there it was. His foot glowed dimly, not white like ghosts in hero tales, but amber, like his skin normally was. When he wasn’t freezing.

  The light vanished.

  Blast. He forced his thoughts away from the cold and concentrated on looking at his foot.

  Amber. And whole, except for an inch-wide hole where the scorpion stung him.

  Elation filled his chest. Tears froze on his cheeks. He was whole again. If only for this moment, he wasn’t a cripple.

  But the dragon said he could walk on his ghost foot. In theory, anyway. What was the next step?

  He snorted at the unintentional pun. But stepping out was exactly what he wanted to do. How?

  Concentrate on making it solid. It wasn’t an illusion, it was real, but incorporeal. If he willed it strongly enough, it would become solid. Or so the dragon said. She also said it wouldn’t be easy.

  He certainly wanted his foot back badly enough to put all the needed effort into it.

  He closed his eyes and visualized his ghostly foot. He willed it to become solid. Wished it to be alive. Begged it to hold his weight.

  His toes tingled. His eyelids yanked upwards so fast they bounced off his eyebrows.

  It was there. Attached. Solid. His foot was there.

  He wiped away tears and tapped his sole gently. His fingers encountered – something. Not flesh, but definitely not air.

  His foot was there, on his ankle.

  Warmth burst through him. His heart hammered. A grin tried to split his head in half.

  He leapt to his feet –

  and his ghost foot vanished.

  He fell hard on his abused stump. Agony shot up his ankle, wrenched his crotch, and slammed into his gut.

  His head bounced off cold stone before he realized he was falling. Black spots spun inside his mind.

  He clamped his forearm over his eyes and squeezed back tears. They soaked his filthy coat sleeve anyway.

  Why couldn’t something be easy? Why didn’t anything go right?

  It had gone right, bahtdor bait. He’d had a foot for a few seconds. He’d make it happen again. All he needed was practice.

  He sniffled. Where was a handkerchief when he needed one? He snorted at himself, blowing out a wad of snot. He hadn’t even packed a handkerchief the day he left Zedista. When he got back to civilization, he’d buy a hundred handkerchiefs. And remember to keep one in his pocket.

  Keeping a warm blanket in his pocket would be nice, too, if impractical. Thunderer, he was tired of being cold.

  He yanked his padded boot onto his stump, scooped up his tools and chucks of carved tooth, and headed back to his shelf.

  A couple of hours later, Leysamura swooped into the cavern carrying a large elk. Her muzzle and hands were covered with gore, but there wasn’t a spot of blood on the corpse.

  She wretched a hind leg from the dead elk and stuffed it into her mouth.

  “I hope you enjoyed your breakfast and lunch.” Viper bowed formally to hide a smile. “And I hope you enjoy your supper. But truly, great lady, you are in dire need of a bath.”

  Leysamura glared at him for a moment. She leaned over to check her egg. She stared back and forth at both for a few seconds, but shrugged.

  Shifting the carcass to its back, she sliced open the belly and yanked out the liver. She tossed it at him and went back to her meal.

  He caught the organ before it hit him in the face. Where had the dragon learned to throw so accurately? His father wasn’t as good with a spear as she was with a liver, and Papa was one of the best in the tribe.

  Not his father. The man Outcast him. Despised him. Stoned him. But his mother and siblings still loved him and had helped him.

  No one could
help him now. He pushed the memories away.

  He juggled the huge slimy mass in his hands until he could dump it on his stone cooking plate. He started a will-fire in the pit below it, and marched into the tunnels to find enough liquid water to wash away the blood.

  Ice water froze his hands. If only he could wash his gory coat, his filthy underwear, his grimy, greasy, blood-splattered hair. Sandblasted dragon.

  She did that on purpose, I know she did. Teach me to tease her while she’s in a flat-faced mood. Lightning strike it, I hate liver. I wish she’d bring a few vegetables, even a single tuber. Wind Dancer, I’d sell my sanity for a piece of fresh bread. Well, maybe I wouldn’t go that far, but if that was the price, I’d be tempted. I swear, if I get out of this alive, I’ll never eat meat again. I’m so sick of liver.

  He yanked a large ear of fungus off the wall and carried it back to the grill.

  The liver smelled brown. He turned it over with a charred stick and wandered off to look for his ‘plate’, a thin slab of black stone.

  “Not so anxious to eat what I give you.” Leysamura glanced at him and growled. “I remember a time you couldn’t wait for you meal to cook.”

  “You’ve taught me patience.” He watched for her reaction from the corner of his eye.

  “At least I taught you something, Adoriel child.” The tone of the words shrieked annoyance, but her face seemed satisfied.

  And now he was an expert at reading a dragon’s facial expressions. He’d get mashed someday because he guessed wrong. Thunderer protect him from his own foolishness.

  He singed old blood and grease off his plate with a gout of will-fire, and carried it back to his firepit.

  The dragon gobbled down the rest of the elk and launched herself out of the cavern, but returned only minutes later, wet and clean.

  He stared at her in disbelief. How could she get to a lake and back so quickly?

  Apparently she noticed his astonishment.

  “I bathe in the crater lake atop this mountain.” She licked her forearm. “Perhaps I’ll take you out to see it someday.”

  “I’d like that.” He’d love to see anyplace that wasn’t the inside of a dark cave.

  Leysamura nodded and continued to preen.