Outcast (The Blue Dragon's Geas) (15 page)

Alador snorted juice out through his nose and coughed to clear his lungs. “… My sister! Remember?
 And you are not due into the circle for another year."  Alador reminded him, still gasping for air somewhat.

“I can wait a year."
 Gregor teased looking at Alador with a wicked grin. “That there would be just fine for the waiting.”

Alador could feel something protective rising up. His face flushed red, and he glared at Gregor. “Stop, just...stop."
 He growled out.

Gregor put his hands out. One mug hand still holding his mug of mulled juice. “All right, all right."
 His movements intended to placate. “I mean no disrespect Al. I thought maybe to consider asking her to housemate in time.”

Alador stared at him in concerned disbelief. “My sister?"
 He couldn’t imagine his best friend and his sister like him and the elder. It just seemed, well, wrong. His nose scrunched as this picture hit him and he shook his head to free it.

“You do not think I am good enough for yar sister?"
 Gregor’s eyes narrowed. He was usually easy going but Gregor had this thing about being good enough that would bring his temper to the surface quickly.

It was Alador’s turn to placate. “No, it is not that. I just can’t imagine her, well you know. With my best friend."
 He shuddered at the thought of Gregor and his sister doing the things that he had with Meradeth. “I am sorry Gregor. It is my sister, and you and I both know you have stolen more than a couple of kisses.”

“I was just teasing Al. I would never steal a kiss from yar sister."
 Gregor nodded and appeared somewhat placated. “Now if she was offering…"  At Alador’s growl, Gregor put back out his hands. “Okay, Okay I will stop."  Gregor could not help the mischief that danced in his eyes. “Oh, speaking of… yah know."  Gregor suddenly grins and turns to face Alador fully. “Yah going to tell me what happened?  I wanted to ask yah yesterday, but yah disappeared."  Gregor paused considering. “And well, the ale was free."  Gregor eyes sparkled with merriment as Alador winced at the word free and Gregor took a long drink as if to emphasize the point.

Alador sighed. He still needed to go settle that debt. He looked at Gregor for a long moment. He wanted to tell his best friend of the night he had spent. He wanted to tell him everything about the ritual. But, his brothers had protected the secret of the passageway and the contents of the ritual hut. He did not see how he could do less. Finally, he answered as he looked at Gregor with a bit of regret. “I am sorry. I cannot.”

“Oh fine. Take the whole, ‘I am an adult now stance.’"  Gregor fired back, but his tone was teasing and he took a sip of his juice. “I will get it out of yah."  Gregor promised. “Eventually.”

“Any other secret...most likely. Not this one."
 Alador looked at his friend with certainty. Gregor needed to have the same experience he had and he had no intentions of spoiling it with his perception of the ritual. He would treasure that night forever. It had seemed almost magical in its intensity and sensation. He downed his glass and went to take Gregor’s when a somber chime began to strike slowly. “We better wash up and get over there.”

Gregor, distracted from grilling Alador for details by the chime, nodded. “I will meet yah there."
 He hurried off to change out of his field clothing.

Alador took the two mugs in and looked at his sister. She was doing the dishes and looked up to take the mugs. Her face colored when he glared at her. “Best get changed."
 He reminded her softly. He would talk to her another day on the subject of his best friend. He headed upstairs to change into a fresh shirt and the new boots.

The funeral was a solemn occasion. The drums pounded out a slow cadence as the six bodies were brought from where they had been prepared to where the six pyres awaited. Alador has been assigned to the second body, so had watched as the other four followed. Each body was carefully laid upon the pyre. The openings they were slid along were then filled in with branches so the fire would burn evenly. It was a warm day, and the flies buzzed about the bodies despite efforts to use herbs and liniments to repel them. It was as if life was drawn from death, and it seemed somehow fitting in the light of how they had died. The slow rhythm of the drum and the sobbing of close kin were the only sounds in the still late afternoon. It was as if even nature had stilled for the importance of the events unfolding.

Once all six bodies were properly upon the pyres, and the branches laid, one of those assigned to attend at each pyre placed sacks of incense upon the branches. It would cover some of the smell and also help the fire burn hotter. Alador had been assigned this task, and he placed eight such sacks around the pyre before him. Then, he and those who had also carried walked back out to the circle that was forming about the six pyres. The drum still beat out its slow pounding cadence. Sweat ran down Alador’s neck from the effort of moving the body, and the heat. A fly bit at where the sweat pooled at his collar bone, and he swatted it absently.

As if called by the drums, family and close friends moved to each pyre one by one. They laid in amongst the branches the items that they carried. Alador watched, tearing up at the thought of so much loss. Family and close friends would lay favored possessions of the dead, or gifts for the afterlife so that when they walked with the gods, they would not do so empty handed. It had been a tradition passed down amongst the people as far back as anyone knew. Such possessions were not gained easily and so to give them up in death was a personal sacrifice to the gods as well as a honoring of the deceased. Death had not yet come close to Alador, and he was glad for it. The pain on the faces of those who mourned was palpable in the air. All the while, the drum beat slowly.

He felt something touch his arm and looked down to see Mesiande’s sad face looking up at him. Her eyes glistened with tears, and she just held his arm with both her hands and looked out at the pyres. The fires would not be lit till the last item was laid and the sun rested upon the far hill. It was slowly going down. It was hot in the sun, but no one complained, the heat was easing slightly. . Although many mopped their brow with sleeve and apron, no one would leave the circle till the fires burned down slightly. He placed a hand over Mesiande’s and squeezed it. There was no needs for words between them. It was a simple act of comfort. He was glad she was there.

At last the sun touched the hilltop and the last person moved back into the circle. The flies still swarmed and bit and the drum beat on. A brand was brought from some other fire and one by one the incense bags were lit. The sound of the crackling wood and the acrid smoke mixed with the lulling smell of sweet flowers filled the air. He watched the fire burn and squeezed Mesiande’s hand even tighter. It would kill him to lose her. It would rip the very heart out of his chest, and he could not imagine how he would live after. He suddenly felt very protective and wanted to pull her close but did not dare. He did reach down and smooth some damp hair that curled before her eye. He gently tucked it back, and when their eyes met, there was a slight smile.

They stood drawing comfort from one another as the sun began to slip behind the hill. The fires raged loudly now, and the smell of burning flesh could not be ignored. A song began to rise, and the voices slowly united and melded. The song coursed with the slow, mournful beat of the drums. Alador and Mesiande joined in. His deep tenor melding with her soft tones in a melody that was drilled into their very hearts.

Though Dethera walks amongst us,

and those we love are lost.

Let us not forget the oaths,

for great has been the cost.

Hamaseic holds back the storms

that we may honor the dead.

Reistare has blessed the crops

that we may pass the bread.

And as the sun is lowering,

Oessyn’s task is done.

They wait for Krona’s blessing,

through fire each is won.

For each Dethera is waiting,

to escort onto their home.

Amongst the gods their walking,

their souls no longer to roam.

And though the people are singing,

the dragons echo in kind.

Niat is softly shining,

a calling of heart and mind.

We are the people of Dragons,

we serve the gods alone.

Through trials and battles woven,

our hearts are coming home.

We are the people of
Dragons,

we serve the gods alone.

Through trials and battles woven,

our hearts are coming home.

As the song trailed off, the drums ceased. The sound of the last note fell away slowly. As if answering to the song, much as the great wolves that howled in the night, a strange call filled the far off hills. The dragons echoed the song with their own long, mournful
calls. Although no words were spoken in that echoing cry, it was if the heart of every Daezun, living or dead, was lifted up to the gods.

Life settled into a happy rhythm for Alador as they headed for the height of summer. Being an adult meant he had a say in when he worked and, to some extent, what tasks. He took his duty to protect the small ones very seriously. He had taken the habit of going out of the village on all trips. A small one close, to middlin age, was sent to fetch him whenever a group was going out of the safety of the circles. When he was not actively guarding, he was working on laying the foundation of the house he was building for himself and Mesiande. Unlike the usual mishmash of rooms, he had borrowed paper from Tentret and had sketched out the design he wanted. The stairs would rise from the middle of the living room to the upper floor that would contain four bedrooms. The downstairs had a cooking area with room for a long table, an area for daily living and tasks and a large bedroom for himself and Mesiande. Tentret had teased him about not being very inventive as the building was square. More than one argument had erupted in the evening over the lack of imagination in Alador’s design. Dorien had just smiled at both Tentret and Alador, and said it would change over time. Houses grew just like families.

Alador was working hard to anticipate needs so this would not happen. He could imagine evenings of laughter around the table. He wanted several small ones. He loved children. This must have been a change from his night with the elder or perhaps when he suddenly had fought the dragon for them. But since then, he found himself teaching and taking the time for the small ones he watched over. He and Meradeth would often take the youngest ones that were old enough to leave the elder’s circle and take them to a small pool to play at the water’s edge. He had waded in with more than one to teach them to swim.

The mating ritual was now upon them, and he already had the foundations laid. He had been using his time off of his duties to take a korpen down to the woods downriver to cut trees. A korpen could drag back two fair trees. Alador did not have the skill to make the planks for the walls, but he had the slips to see it done. He was pleased with the quality of the boards but then an abundance of slips tended to guarantee one the best efforts. Gregor had been hanging about and helping him. He had teased Alador more than once that he needed to remember his friends. So often in the evening, he would stop with Gregor at the alehouse to remember him properly, or at least how Gregor saw as proper. Gregor’s help had been critical, for he knew how to set the walls and supporting poles.

Mesiande would stop by now and give suggestions to the two men. As both were working in the hot sun without their shirts, she was often joined by more than one middlin girl who was close to Mesiande’s age. Then they would all leave off in a small giggling circle. Alador would have given much to know the content of those conversations as the girls were often glancing back. He got little out of Gregor during these visits as Gregor although appearing to work was more flexing his muscles and involved in antics to bring about more giggles.

When the sun would begin to set, he would often meet Mesiande down at the rapids. The noise of the water falling over the rocks would hide their voices. They would sit and talk until the darkness would begin to creep around them, then he would walk her to the boundary where they both could see the outermost circle of houses that composed the village... While he would occasionally steal a kiss, it was not as frequent as he knew Mesiande was seeking. He often found himself in positions where she had maneuvered her lips close to his. He would oblige her when there was not a chance of someone coming soon or when he felt a deep sense of control. At other times, he was afraid he would not be able to stop at mere kisses. He wanted her so badly, and her touch was more intoxicating than the strongest drink at the alehouse. He knew there were others that had not waited, but Alador wanted to do things the way they should be done. He did not want to risk returning to the state of an outcast so close when everything he wanted was just within reach.

There had been no additional sign
s of the red dragon. There were many theories as to why he had attacked, but no one knew for sure. The crops were all coming up well, and even the spring birth of new korpen had been relatively fruitful. Usually one or two korpen were lost each year and as far as he knew, this year none had fallen. The village as a whole was recovering from the dragon’s attack. All the burned buildings were repaired, and much of the scorched ground had started a patch of regrowth or been covered with fresh dirt.

The expedition back to the bones where he had dug his own bloodstone had come with much expectation, and passed with much disappointment. While numerous jewelry size stones had been found, nothing of great value had come from the second trip. It was as if all the dragon’s treasure had pooled in Alador’s stone. There were grumblings that Alador should share his largess. However, the find had been truly his alone, and so no one asked.

His visions had been quiet, as well. Occasionally he would dream of a vast cave on the edge of the sea. One had to swim a short distance under water to enter it. Inside was a bed of seaweed and gleaming metals. In the center was a pool of water. Often he would picture four eggs in this nest, nestled down inside the water. He could smell the salt of the sea. The comfort as he shifted on the bed of treasure and other soft matter. He would always wake up feeling warm and happy after this dream. It sometimes was difficult to fully awaken for the vision held so much detail. He could hear the water dripping down the stalactite and onto the cave floor. It was as if he were coming home. He was glad that the cave was only accessible under water. It meant the eggs were safe. He knew that Lerdenian’s often stole dragon eggs for the bloodstone mines. He couldn’t explain the intensity, but he knew that it was important that the eggs were safe.

Maybe this was fueled by the one night he had dreamed that the eggs had been taken by Lerdenians. The eggs had been taken to
a bloodmine.  Hatched there, they were fed by their handlers and tamed as pets. This thought had awakened him one morning. He had been angry and restless the rest of the day. The dragons that were raised in these ‘mines’ were staked out in his vision. They were well fed but not allowed any freedom, and their great wings were regularly clipped. Once a month, they were bled near to death, and then moved. One year later, the area would be dug and the bloodstones harvested. It was cruel, and he sometimes wondered why the dragons did not unite to stop it. A full flight of dragons could release their kin. Why did they leave their fledglings to grow up in a life of such misery?

Last night, he had awakened with that dream once more. He had felt the rage of the circling dragon as he looked down at the fettered dragons. He had shared his thoughts of how they were not true dragons for they knew not the hunt or the taste of the pools of magic. This had occupied his thoughts as he worked on his house for the evening. Tomorrow was the circle, and he was trying to think of anything but being chosen. He hammered furiously trying to pound the vision of last night or the upcoming ritual far from his thoughts. He about jumped out of his skin when a voice spoke.

“I thought one had to be an adult before they could establish a home and hearth?"  The lazy tone both familiar and at the same time feared.

Alador spun about to see his father. He had hoped
that he would not come, and the test could then be delayed. However, his father liked to attend the circle. So far, he had been the only child of such a visit to have been brought to term and raised to naming day. It always puzzled Alador how Henrick was always chosen given he was a full Lerdenian and a traveling enchanter by trade. Yet the entire village, even the elders, oddly accepted his father.

Alador bowed low to the mage. Despite his trepidation at his father’s appearance, he was still to be respected. “I was given leave to enter adulthood earlier."
 Alador lay down his hammer and picked up a towel to wipe his hands and face. The squared foundation and design of the lower floor house could be seen quite clearly.

Henrick’s eyes followed the lines of the simple squared structure. “I see. If my memory serves me correctly, only one who is found to have skills of great value or income are found worthy for such an honor. Which has happened?"
 His father moved to lean back against a pile of planks eyeing his son with casual curiosity. His father was dressed in simple black leather boots and pants. His red shirt in sharp contrast seemed fitting somehow. He had not remembered his father looking quite so dashing in the past. Most mages tended to have silks or robes. There was a time when his father had worn such, but the last few visits he had moved with much more confidence and his manner of dress had been casual.

Alador smiled. “It is a rather long story. If you like, I will wash up and then we can have a drink in the inn while I explain."
 Alador truly enjoyed his father’s visits. He was an intelligent man with a quick sense of humor. While he dreaded the testing that would occur this visit and what it might mean, he truly respected the man before him. His father had always brought him gifts, told great stories and coached him to try to bring forth the ability to touch the magic gifts that those of Lerdenian blood were oft as not attuned to learn. Up until he had found the bloodstone, he had hoped each time he could leave with his father. He had thought that surely life as a halfblooded mage would be better than a halfblooded farmer or miner.

“Yes, a drink would be quite welcome to remove the taste of dust from my mouth. I fear that the lexital seemed to insist on the dustiest of routes today."
 His father smiled at him, and Alador could not help but notice his father did not seem the least bit dusty. However, lexital were strange creatures that would allow a single rider, and they often found their way to dust bowls. These unique creatures had a strange curved beak with what seemed to be like the sail of a boat rising above both beak and eyes. Their neck was long and serpentine, moving side to side as they steered through the sky. Their eyes were red and rimmed in blue. Their wings were varying shades of blue with a ridge of red that seemed to arch out mid-feathers. This was especially noticeable in fight. There was a natural dip in this neck right before the body that could carry the rider. Daezun were usually too solid in stature for such a beast to be practical. Alador looked around for the lexital and smiled when he saw two middlins trying to tie it to a post, and it was not cooperating.

Alador nodded. “Let me clean up and change, and then I will join you there directly."
 He smiled at Henrick and then turned to put his things away. He could not help but feel his father’s eyes upon him for a long moment before he heard his bright response.

“Right then, I look forward to this tale of sudden prestige”

When Alador turned around, his father was gone. He smiled and hurried home to change. His father loved a good mead and wasn’t likely to turn down a chance to sit in the cool darkness of the inn. The day was definitely warm. His mother was not around to slow him with her fussing for once. He breathed a sigh of relief for if she got wind that Henrick was in the village then she would never let him go without a thousand words of questions and reminders. Or maybe she had heard and was even now cleaning up to greet him. Regardless of where she was, it allowed him to rejoin Henrick at the inn rather quickly.

His father already had a crowd about him. Elders loved it when his father came for he would tell tales of the lands and villages he visited. Perhaps it was one of the reasons he seemed not to genera
te the hate that most Lerdenians drew. His manner was so easy going, and he was so relaxed. He did not have the pretension of many of his kin, and Henrick’s ability to tell stories seemed more along the lines of one of the elders. He would pass on gossip and news from neighboring villages. Alador suspected that the bigger reason was that Henrick would always run the tab and a free drink in Smallbrook was never turned down. Alador had learned how much coin his father must spend when he had paid the tab the day he had bought drinks for everyone.

Alador stopped for a long moment. His father was a traveling enchanter by trade. It was a meager existence though boarding and room were often free. Yet he now knew how much coin his father spent when he visited. It did not add up. He pondered this conflict of fact with a frown. How did his father have so many slips?
 If he had slips, why did he work as a traveling enchanter?  He was unable to puzzle this out and though it occupied his thoughts, he continued on to the tavern.

Alador was welcomed with greetings by all those gathered about his father. It was much more welcoming than normal, but then they were drinking his father’s slips. He often still felt himself reacting as an outsider when such attention was paid. It was getting easier on subtle matters, but such a public outcry still made him a bit self-conscious. His father’s shrewd eyes were on him when he entered. They seemed to cut through the crowd to find his own gaze, and Alador shifted a bit uncomfortably. Sometimes it felt as if that gaze could see his most inner thoughts.

“Alador, lad, come join us. I have been hearing the most fanciful tales."  Henrick toasted his son. “Shot a dragon did we?  Ran it off?"  Henrick’s eyes showed just a tiny bit of disbelief. “I can barely fathom it. Did you not tell me you could barely see a second target length?  Certainly getting an arrow down a dragon’s maw is far more difficult. It is almost as if someone pointed that arrow for you to hear it told."  Henrick’s tone although jovial had a strange edge to it. He leaned forward towards Alador. "Did someone tell you where to shoot, my boy?"  Henrick rubbed his neck absently as he gazed at his son.