The Lesser Kindred

VII Salera

I've always drought mere should be more to that—a whole song maybe—but I'm no bard. Still, mat much appeared without being called and no more came to mend it, so perhaps mat's all it is meant to be.

I came across her nine years ago. I was on my way home from gathering the tiny blue salerian blossoms. Salerian grows only in the hills, I've tried cuttings and seeds and all sorts but it just won't take and grow in a garden. Still, as it's the best remedy known for maladies that make the head ache, it's worth the trip. The plant is a large one, more a bush than anything else, but the flowers are small and at their best and strongest in the early spring. It was no more than three weeks after the Spring Balance-day, all those years ago. I'd gone gathering early in the day, before the rain came. I was on my way back home with my bag full, racing a big black cloud, when I smelled smoke.

It was cold enough for a fire, true, but I lived deeper in the wooded hills above Verfaren than any other and my cottage was a good two miles away. I knew of no charcoal burners thereabouts and, well, yes, I was curious and followed my nose.

I hadn't far to go, but even in that little time I knew fine I would find no ordinary fire. The smell was not of wood smoke. There was a wildness to it, a tinge of something I didn't know at all, but under and over all as I drew nearer was the scent of burning flesh. I slowed as I drew near, for it was well off the path and I did not care to lose myself in the trackless wood. Even so, I gasped when I peered round a great oak and saw her.

She was walking in the midst of a raging fire, nosing about in the very flames like a dog seeking a scent, making the most pitiful noises. As I watched, spellbound, she threw back her head and screamed.

The sound hit me like a blow. This was not the voice of a beast, a lost dog abandoned by an owner, nor was it her death-agony. It was not physical pain at all. There was not the slightest doubt in my mind that this was grief, and that the creature before me suffered terribly in the full knowledge of what it had lost.

I had never seen a dragon so close, and never imagined that they were more than beasts. I had also thought they were larger. This was no more than the size of a big dog.

Oh, Lady keep the poor soul, I thought, as I realised I could see now the vague outline of where the fire was—or had been, for it was dying rapidly. A much larger shape, indeed, lay traced on the rough ground in ashes. I had heard any number of reasons why no dragon carcases were ever found, and before me was the explanation that made the most sense. Seems that when they died they burned, fire to fire, leaving nor tails nor scales nor wing-tips, only ash and a few small hunks of charred bone.

The little dragon cried out again, its eyes tight closed, all its teeth bared and its nose pointing to heaven, for all the world like any human soul in pain. The world's fool I was and am, for I couldn't help myself, I moved to comfort it as I would do for any man or beast. I'm no Healer, but even a herbalist has a need to lessen pain if it can be done, and my sister Lyra always said my heart was as soft as my head. Still, it was not as foolish as it might seem, for I'm a good size and strong enough in myself to deal with most things.

The creature was suddenly aware of me and hissed a warning, like a great snake. It bared its teeth, watched me through eyes now become mere slits, head low to the ground.

For some reason best known to the Lady, I spoke to it.

"Now then, now then, no need to worry, I'll not harm you," I said calmly and quietly, as I'd speak to a child or a hurt dog. And let us keep it that way on both sides, shall we? I thought to myself. "What's brought you to this pass, eh, little one? For you are that, aren't you? Just a killing who's lost yer mam and got nowhere to run and hide. Don't you worry, Willem's here, I'll help you if I can."

My voice seemed to be soothing it—at least it relaxed enough to open its eyes some bit wider, and I got another surprise. Its eyes were brilliant blue, the very blue of the sa-lerian flowers I'd been gathering. "Salera," I said aloud. "That'll do you for a name, unless you've one already. Salera. Don't know if you're lad or lass, but it don't matter much." I had been very slowly drawing nigh it, moving smoothly as one does with unknown animals. I stopped just before it shied away and kept talking as I knelt down with one hand outstretched. "Nah, then, Salera, what are we to do, eh? I'll wager your mam's been ill some while, hasn't she? I can count your ribs, ye poor thing. And now she's left you without wanting to or meaning to, but you're left all the same."

It was warily coming a tiny bit closer, stretching out its neck, sniffing at my hand. At any rate it's got something else to think about now, I thought, and that's all to the good. I didn't know if I could bear to hear that scream again.

It moved its attention in a moment from my hand to my pouch and started sniffing at my salerian flowers, and before I could move or think, I give you my word, that creature tore open my bag and ate up in a few quick mouthfuls what I'd spent hours collecting. I just sat back and watched. Maybe it knew the flowers by the scent for their healing powers, maybe it was just attracted by them, maybe it was just so weary with grief and pain it didn't care—but it had been in need and had taken food with my scent on it. It grew braver then, or had lost any fear of what could be worse than had already happened to it. I kept still on my knees while it came and carefully sniffed me all over. It smelled warm and somehow spicy, like cinnamon, but with a sharp tang under all of fire and danger.

Then, it looked me in the eye and tried to say something.

I know, I know, it sounds mad, but I'd swear it was trying to talk. It moved its mouth and made sounds, its eyes were bright and full of intelligence, I just couldn't understand it

Like an idiot I said, "What? What was that?"

I would swear it said the same thing again. Near enough, anyhow. But I was no nearer to understanding. And I had forgotten my hurry, but the reason for it arrived and reminded me. A few big drops splashed on my arms and face, and the kitling looked up just like I did to see the clouds upon us and the rain smelled only moments away. I looked around, but the kitling was already moving. The big rocks away on the far side of the clearing weren't solid like I had thought; one moment the dragon was there and the next it wasn't. Well, I'd about made up my mind to go home and come back later, despite the rain, when I heard the creature cry out. It was nearly a mew, nearly a bleat, but more than either. If it wasn't calling for its mother then it was the next best thing.

Well, it was join the beast in the rocks and stay dry or keep out in that rain and get drenched, so I went to join it.

I'd never heard tell of anyone going in the lair of a dragon of their own free will—I reckoned I was the first in many long years at least, if not the first ever. Sure enough, folk saw the little dragons from time to time, though there didn't seem to be many of them—but they were shy, skittish creatures for the most part and stayed away from people. I didn't have time to think about that or about what to expect, I just ran in to keep dry.

There was some light from an opening overhead, in fact, the whole wall at the back was lit from above, though just at the moment it was right dim and there was more rain coming in than light. There was a smell in there of decay and illness, but it wasn't overpowering. Just one small heap of half-digested something in a corner that had come back up, and one or two piles of not-quite-covered droppings away to one side. Otherwise it was dry and bare, almost you'd call it clean. No skulls, no bones, but no gold either. I was almost disappointed, when I had the time to think about it. I'd heard dragons slept on a pile of treasure and human bones.

Well, I walked in and stood with my back against the wall near the entrance, and the kitling came up to me. I don't know if it didn't like rain or was just so desperate with need it would take any kind of comfort, but it came right up against me and stared into my eyes. I kneeled down again to get closer and it reached up its long neck so we were nose to nose. I couldn't resist, I reached out and let it smell my hand. It sniffed once, briefly, then slid its head under my hand.

That did it. I sat down with my back to the wall and patted it, my hand light on its scales. They were smooth, like nothing I'd ever felt before, and the colour of bright copper. If it were now, I'd say they felt like finest silk, but I'd never seen silk then. Its hide was warm to the touch. It worked its way closer, carefully at first, slowly, as if still not sure whether I'd up of a sudden and treat it ill—then all in a moment it gave in and just crawled into my lap.

I'd had enough dogs in my day to know that they mourn every bit as much as people do, but this was worse. It knew more, somehow, and its misery was the deeper for knowing what it had lost. I could do no more than hold it, speak to it, let it feel a fellow creature's touch and know it wasn't all alone in the world. That's about all anyone can do around death in any case.

Eventually it slept, right there in my lap. I hadn't the heart to move it even after the rain stopped. I was amazed as I sat there, my back against the wall, the weary little dragon curled warm in my lap like a great cat, its half-formed wings tucked neatly along its sides, the tip of the tail resting under its cheek. I felt light-headed, trying to understand the strangeness of it one moment, the next knowing full well that the creature would have gone to a cow for comfort as readily as it came to me, I just happened to be passing.

I thought hard as it slept, for I knew fine that kitling needed food, but I had no notion what the creatures ate aside from salerian flowers. What did I have in my house, what could I catch—come to that, how old was it, and was it going to die because I didn't know how to make up for its mother's milk?

That at least I dismissed, first because I didn't know if dragons made milk in any case, and second because I took a good look at the fangs sticking out from its lower jaw. Those were made to tear meat, sure as life. I wondered if it would be happy enough with rabbit, which was all I had in my larder, or if I would have to fight to keep it off my chickens.

Just then it woke and stretched, and it near broke my heart. I knew that moment, I'd done the same when I woke the morning after we laid our mother in the earth—the first time you wake after such a shock and it all seems no more than a bad dream just for that very first instant. That stretch was utterly natural for one heartbeat—then it stopped and contracted, just like a person thinking, My world has changed I'm alone I can't stretch or breathe or move as I did before, ever again. It was startled and scrambled away from me quick, sharp, scratching me with its claws as it went. That hurt, I can tell you for nothing. I yelled and it stopped running and looked back. I was angry and I scolded it. Damn stupid thing to do, but it's hard to fear a creature that has slept on you, and those claws had been sharp.

"Look now what you've done, Salera. What was that for? Here I sit with you for comfort, wasting away my morning, and I get ripped trews and a handful of scratches for my pains. What would yer mam have said, eh? Is that the way to treat a friend?"

Well, it was full awake now, and damned if it didn't come back to my hand, even tried to lick the scratches on my leg as if it was sorry.

Believe me or not, when I left that cave, the little creature came along behind. I had a brew heating at home, I had to get back before the fire died out entirely, and bless me if Salera didn't follow me all the way to my house. I stoked the fire, stirred the brew, then went to my little larder and brought out the rabbit I'd caught. I sighed just a little as I realised I'd have only roots for my own supper.

I took the carcase out to Salera. She had stopped to drink at the stream that runs by the edge of the clearing to the north, whence we'd come. I'd cleared only enough land for my house and a little vegetable patch. I've always thought that trees deserve life as much as we do.

She—well, yes, I was only guessing she was female, but I couldn't think of her as "it," and somehow she struck me more as a she than a he—anyroad, she came in a hurry when she smelled the meat. That was the real shock, though: she sat back on her haunches, took the carcase gently from my hand with her front claws—her hands—and ate that rabbit like any lady, save that she took only three bites to do it and crunched the bones as she went.

Poor thing. Game isn't very plentiful, that time of the year. She licked her claws, then licked my hand clean even of the scent, then walked very calmly to the stream and washed.

I couldn't think what to do with her, but in the end it wasn't really up to me. She stayed with me all that year, through summer and harvest and all through the winter, until spring was come again. She had grown quite a bit in that year, must have been nearly her full height, for towards the third moon of the year it was like living with a horse in the house. I was grateful for my own height and strength then, for I could just about make her shift herself when I needed her to move. Still, she had learned for the most part not to knock things over. She slept in front of the fire and I moved my chair well to one side, and we managed well enough.

By the end of that year I couldn't imagine life without her.

We had been constant companions. I had hunted for her, fed her up—and that took some doing, I'll tell you for nothing— but when she was old enough and strong enough, just after the Autumn Balance-day, she got the idea, and after that she provided for me. I ate better that winter than ever I had, enough that I could share with others in the nearby village who were in need of a bit of help and grateful indeed for meat in winter.

And she was someone to talk to. I spoke to her as to another soul, and though I don't think she understood my words, she seemed to try to reply. As time went on, I almost thought I heard a word every now and then. I must have been a little daft.

In spring, though, when the first warm wind blew through my little clearing, when I'd just put the early vegetables in the ground, she came out and felt the breeze. She lifted her head, sniffed for all she was worth, and spread her wings. She'd had trouble with them as they were growing, when the skin and the tendons stretched it bothered her, and I'd tried all my simples until I found a few that helped her. A soft ointment made with oil, mint, pepper and a scented resin, much as I'd use to salve an old man's bones in winter, seemed to work best, and she chose the resin herself. Nosed it off the shelf, she did, while I was wondering what would be best. It would be one of the ones I have to trade for, and to be honest it convinced me I'd been right about her being female. I usually saved it for perfumes to sell at market, but— well, I couldn't deny her, now could I? So she not only had her pains soothed, she smelled of the most amazing combination of exotic perfume and dragon.

However, when I saw her ruffling her wings like that, I got a feeling I didn't like. I knew the time was coming. It wasn't natural for either of us, living together, and though she had taken well enough to my ways they were not hers. I hoped she'd be able to learn to fly on her own, though. Not as if I could teach her!

Didn't need to. She tried a few times, flapping and looking terribly awkward, then somehow she managed to stay aloft for a moment or two. That did it. She just kept at it after that, and by the next moon she was flying better than I thought was possible for the creatures. I had always heard they could barely fly, but she seemed to manage it without any trouble.

Then one morning, as spring was drawing towards summer, I rose after her and found her in the most open bit of the clearing. She was waiting for me. I don't know how I knew, but I did. She was leaving and this was farewell. I walked straight up to her and she watched my every step. I put my arms around her neck and hugged her, and she wrapped her wings about me just for a moment.

It felt like saying farewell to a daughter, and I couldn't just let her go like that, could I? So I held her big face in my hands and gazed into her eyes. "Fare thee well, then, my Salera," I said, stroking her cheek ridge. "Kitling. Lady keep you wherever you fare, little one. I'll miss you. Fly well and strong."

She closed her eyes and touched my forehead to hers, that bump on her forehead warm against my own brow—she was always so warm to the touch—then she straightened up and looked at me. She said something then, I'd swear, but even after all that time I couldn't understand it. I think I tried in my mind to make it sound like my name, but in truth it was a long way off from that.

"Lady keep you," I murmured, and stood back. She crouched, then leapt, her great haunches launching her into the air, her wings sweeping down, beating fast. I watched her flapping madly until she found warm air. Then she stretched out her wings and rose smoothly in a gliding spiral upwards. I give you my word, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. She turned her face south—deeper into the forest, towards the Sulkith Hills—and was gone.

"Blast the child, she's trodden all over my new lavender," I muttered. "Wretched dragon. She never did look where she was going in the garden." Then I realised I'd walked on fully half of the new plants myself and broken most of them, and I started to swear at her, at myself, at the seedlings for being in the wrong place. I was so angry I could hardly see straight.

Well, it might have been anger.

I never saw her again, though I surely did look. I stayed there another two years, tending my garden, helping those I could, selling my potions and oils and perfumes at the market, waiting for Salera. She never came back. In the end I decided I had to find out what I could about her kind, for I'd never known a thing save what I learned from her, and she was raised by me, poor soul.

The only place I knew to go was Verfaren, where the Healers are trained. I'd heard they had a library, writings from as far back as writing went. Surely someone must have studied the creatures in all those years. So I packed up my bits, left the door open and the fire laid just in case she returned, and went to learn what I could at the College of Mages.

That was seven, nearly eight years ago now. I learned what there was to learn but I had to search the library through to find it. I helped in the garden to earn my keep. In time I came to know the library so well that when the master of the books was taken ill, he asked me to stay and help. I stayed, and helped, and when he passed on I was asked by Magister Berys himself if I would take the books for my work. I told him true that I hadn't come planning to stay, but that if he was willing I'd stay awhile, until my way was clear to me and it was time to leave.

"And when will that be?" he asks me.

"When the wind's right and the sky calls," I answered. It wasn't respectful, but then I never liked him. To be honest I was only staying to honour old Paulin. "And I'll not give up the garden."

He just laughed, and said that if I knew the books and didn't mind the students, it was good enough for him, and he'd get a gardener into the bargain. So I've stayed on here, learning what I could, getting to know a few of the students passing through, enjoying their different views on life and learning. The only difficulty I have is putting up every year with the new young girls, who find a tall, fair-haired man not so much older than themselves a great temptation, or perhaps a challenge. I'm not boasting, you understand, it's all a bit wearisome as far as I'm concerned. I can't help my looks, and I don't encourage or take advantage of the girls.

However, it has changed me, being around so much learning. I've read everything I could find, and I speak differently now than I used to. You can't read so many words without starting to use some of them. My sister laughs at me but I think she is secretly impressed. She was the only other person who ever knew Salera and she misses her. I go back home occasionally, to visit with Lyra and to make sure my cottage in the wood has not fallen down. In fact I was there before midwinter just past, making all snug before the frost set in. I still returned to Verfaren though, to see in the new year, despite the fact that I have never felt that I belonged here. I have never felt the need to go back home, either.

Until a few years ago, when I met Vilkas and Aral. Interesting that almost the only lass who has been able to see me as no more than a friend from the beginning has been Aral, and that she has captured my heart so completely.

Life does that to you sometimes, when you're not looking.

I was speechless with wonder. "Marik? My lord?" I whispered, not daring to believe what I saw.

"Who did you think it was, Maikel? And what's wrong with your eyes?" he asked, frowning at me. Berys laughed.

"He has not been well, Marik. Worn out with fussing over you. Still, you are both under my protection now, so there is no need for concern."

Marik seemed to get angry at that but he was not really strong enough for anger yet. "For now," he murmured. Why he should be angry at Berys's words I could not understand. I worried for a moment that he was not as fully recovered as he seemed.

"How is your leg, master?" I asked. He seemed surprised. He glanced down and flexed the muscles. "It hardly hurts at all."

"Wait until you stand up," chuckled Berys. "Maikel tells me you have been unable to get out of that bed for more than five minutes together ever since you returned, and that has been full four moons by my reckoning. It is time you took some exercise." He grabbed the blankets and tugged them off the bed. "Come, man, it's midmorning, time you were up and doing."

The Magister dragged my Lord Marik out of bed and got him to stand, which is more than I had managed to do for many months, but I barely noticed it. He was weak, he was disoriented, but he was himself again. His mind was healed. I could scarcely believe it. I had not yet dispersed my Healer's sight and without thinking I used it to look into his mind.

No longer did I see mat desert mat had haunted me for so long. His mind appeared at first glance to be much like any other, bright with flashing thought and swirling with colour, but there was an obvious difference just below the surface.

I know not how I may explain this to you. Imagine a hut made of twigs and branches of all different shapes and sizes. At first glance it appears solid, but when you look closely you see that it has been made hurriedly from shoddy materials, and the nails that hold it together are poorly forged and too short. It looks whole but one good wind would blow it to pieces. Or a bridge—yes, that's it, imagine a single slim bridge spanning an abyss, barely long enough to reach across. There are no handrails and it shakes at every step. It is possible to cross, but the link is dangerously weak and could shatter at any time.

For a moment I stared at Berys, horrified. He had not healed Marik, he had patched him together with thin cord and weak glue. It was a dreadful, irresponsible thing to do, for if that patch came undone my lord would be worse off than before. The undermind trusts only once. If Marik's mind shattered this fragile link, it would never accept Berys's healing again. It would probably never accept any healing again.

I looked up to protest, then thought better of it. Best not to mention such a thing in Marik's presence. I must speak to Magister Berys later, alone.

In the meantime, Marik practiced walking. He was dreadfully weak, as might be expected, but he managed a few steps several times that day. And he finally ate real food, not just the infants' mush we had managed to get down him before.

Perhaps the mend would hold. Certainly the habit of sanity was the best cure. The longer he remained well, the stronger his mind would become. But I didn't like the slapdash way he had been healed, and I resolved to say something about it when I could catch Berys on his own.

I sought him then, following instinct, even as I trembled at the thought of the journey before me and wondered if I could find the place where I was raised. I had travelled far and wide in the years between and was not certain where to look, but there lived in my mind a quiet woodland up in the hills, where there was a cave once and pain, and a house in a clearing with a stream at the side. I knew somehow in the confused heart of me that it was there I would find him.

As I followed the mind's trace that drew me to him, I saw many of my own kindred in passing. Some came to me with a glad sound and that was very good. I saw more than I had dreamt there might be and my heart knew joy at the seeing. But as night follows day so there is darkness in all things, and I also passed many of the Hollow Ones. They were shaped as we but there was nothing within them but pale fire and the need for food. They turned upon one another, rending in anger where kinship was lost, and my blood grew cold as the ice beneath my feet when I saw them.

I travelled long, by sun and moon, flying where I could, walking when I had to, seeking any sign of him or of my old home on the ground or in the air. I stopped to eat and sleep as need found me and hope carried me, until finally I began to recognise the land. The trees were naked so early in the year, though I remembered them with white flowers and red berries, but it was the same place. We had walked here together of a morning. I was come home.

Alas, his smell was cold, and my tail dragged in the dust that lay soft and gentle upon the threshold. I did not smell death, but neither did I smell present life. But there was food to be had in the wood, and water and shelter, and I could keep myself strong as I awaited his coming. For I knew in my soul that he would come, as I knew that day followed darkness. I had only to wait and watch.