Dragonfire
Authors: Karleen Bradford
Karleen Bradford
For Ashley
“I make the poem of evil also,
I commemorate that part also,
I am myself just as much evil as good…”
—Walt Whitman, “Starting from Paumanok,”
Leaves of Grass
The snow had dusted white the rooftops of the tall, narrow, jammed-together houses, but underfoot, on the cobblestones, it was already brown and slimy with slush. The boy shivered. The straw pallet upon which he lay was rimed with ice; the thin woolen covering, pockmarked with holes, woefully insufficient to stave off the cold. From somewhere close at hand came the crowing of a cock. It was time to be up and fetching water for the inn, but he burrowed farther in and savored a last few moments of rest. Of peace.
It was almost time now, the Protector had said. But, muster his courage as he might, the words filled the boy with dread. He wasn’t ready.
A dog barked, a man cursed, and the first wagon of the day clattered into the stable yard. It was not possible to put off the inevitable any longer. He threw back the flimsy covering and unfolded himself from his pallet. As he stretched, his head brushed the low stable roof; the color and matted dirtiness of his hair almost matched the thatch itself. Every movement was slow and reluctant, but, as he rubbed at his half-closed eyes, there was a glint of bright, almost impossible blue.
The ragged breeches and shirt he slept in were all the clothes he owned. He made an attempt to straighten them and put himself in some kind of order, then stumbled out into the dawn. The dog was waiting for him, panting, as if it had spent the night hunting. A huge, rangy brown beast, it inspired fear in everyone and served to protect the boy well. The boy started to speak to it, but stopped as a low growl issued forth from deep within its chest. The hackles along the animal’s back rose.
A dark shape stood beside the pump in the yard. The boy felt his own skin prickle. There was something strange about the form. It looked human, but it wavered—seemed almost to lack substance. Without further warning, the dog attacked. But, as the animal leaped for the stranger’s throat, the figure
disappeared. For a moment there was a blackness greater than that surrounding the spot where it had stood, then—nothing. The dog growled again, frustrated, and loped off through the low, arched gateway toward the teeming streets of the town beyond. The boy stared at the emptiness before him. Had he imagined it? No, the dog, too, had seen something.
Catryn was waiting, as he knew she would be, with warm ale and a chunk of bread when the boy reached the back door of the inn. As she opened it, the smells of woodsmoke, boiling meat and a miasma of human and animal odors roiled out. A cat slipped through the opening and slunk off into the yard, keeping one wary eye on a pair of hounds lounging by the stables. They, however, were interested only in a skinned rabbit hanging outside the kitchen door and some chickens pecking at a handful of grain.
As near as the boy could tell, Catryn and he were the same age, close to seventeen summers. She treated him more like a younger brother, though. Perhaps because she had no family of her own, she had opted to watch out for him—as if she believed
it was her duty to take care of him. Sometimes that annoyed him. But if it were not for her, his life would have been even more miserable. He had learned to keep his feelings to himself and accept what she was willing to give.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” she answered with a smile, and suddenly he found himself looking at her as if she were a stranger. He and Catryn had known each other since childhood. He had been found on the doorstep of the inn, a nameless babe protected only by the dog. Catryn had been brought to the inn by her father about four or five years later. It had not been long before her father had been caught stealing and hanged. The innkeeper’s wife had taken on the care of both children, but had been rough and unloving with her charges. The boy winced as he remembered the beatings they had suffered.
Now, as he took the food and drink from Catryn’s hands, it was as if he were seeing them for the first time. They were rough and reddened from work, but fine-boned and delicate.
They’re beautiful, he thought.
And her hair. It was dirty, as usual, and unkempt, but it burst forth from underneath her kerchief, catching the brightness of the sunlight. He had never before realized that it was the color of fire. Was it because things were about to change that he was seeing her this way?
He had asked her once how her mother had died, but she had refused to tell him. When he had pressed her, she had become angry. She, in her turn, had wanted to give him a name, had been insistent about it. He had not let her, however. He knew the time for his naming had not yet come, although he could not explain that to her. She had become even angrier, and it had been the only time in their lives they had quarreled.
His stomach knotted with hunger at the smell of the food—his last meal had been at noon the day before. He quaffed the ale in a few huge gulps and tore into the bread.
“Thank you,” he said again when he stopped for breath, but his mind was elsewhere. The stranger: How had he disappeared in such a fashion?
“Are you ill?” Catryn asked. She stared at him. “There’s an even odder look about you than usual. Is anything amiss?”
The boy shrugged. Although he had managed to keep his greatest secret hidden from her, he knew she suspected something about him. She often asked him questions—questions he could not answer—and he knew she remained curious.
“I am well,” he answered. “But my dog has run off.”
“Doesn’t it always?” Catryn sniffed. She had no liking for the beast and made it clear she considered it no better than a noisome, fur-bearing nuisance.
The rest of the day passed normally, although the dog did not return. The boy went about his duties in the stable, at first only vaguely uneasy. The animal’s comings and goings were its own business. As the day lengthened into evening, however, he became more and more disturbed. He was certain that the dog’s disappearance had something to do with the mysterious stranger. What if the dog had come to harm? Impossible, he told himself. The dog could come to no harm. But it wasn’t until late that night that he finally curled up on his pallet. He did not settle himself for sleep, however, but lay wakeful and watching. Suddenly, a rustle by the doorway alerted him. He sprang up.
A slight form slipped through the opening, then Catryn’s voice whispered through the darkness.
“Are you here?” The words did not ring with her normal self-assuredness. She sounded almost as if she were afraid.
“What is wrong?” Catryn had never before come to his sleeping place.
“There is a man at the inn. I like him not. He has been asking questions about you. About a babe that appeared here at the inn nearly seventeen years ago. He would not say why, would not even say how he knew about you. I listened at the door as he questioned Master Hobbs and his wife. There is something about him…He frightens me.”
The boy stood immobile, his mind working. The
man—he had to be the one who had disappeared so mysteriously this morning. The one the dog had attacked. And if the man was asking about him…The Protector was right. He had been found. Time had run out.
“I think you should hide. Go away. At least until he is gone.”
“Go away? Where?” For a moment the boy panicked. The inn was the only place he knew. The Protector had never allowed him outside its limits.
“I have brought you food,” Catryn answered. “I know a place where you can stay. Follow me there, quickly. The man stays up late by the fire, but he drinks not, nor does he eat. He just sits there, staring with eyes that look like windows into hell itself, and questions all who have anything to do with the inn. The master is afraid of him, too, and is telling him all he wants to know.”
A door opened at the back of the inn, and for a moment firelight flickered out into the darkness, then it closed again.
“Come!” Catryn’s whisper was urgent now. “Hurry!” She turned and melted into the night. The boy slipped out behind her.
Catryn led him through the stable yard and into the kitchen gardens beyond. At the bottom of the gardens was a shack. It looked as if it had been a garden shed, but had obviously not been used for some time. Together, Catryn and the boy pulled
back the remnants of a wooden door. They froze as the hinges squealed, then he squeezed through. The shed was full of tools and other objects, mysterious in the dark. There was barely room for the two of them.
Catryn handed him a bundle. “There is a bit of bread in there and some meat scraps. Stay hidden tomorrow. I’ll try to find out for you what the stranger wants, what the danger is, then I’ll come back tomorrow night as soon as I can.” She made for the door, then stopped and turned back. He could see the faint glitter of her eyes in the gathering gloom. When she spoke again, there was a quiver in her voice.
“What is happening here?” she said. “I have tried to be patient, to understand, but I cannot hold my tongue any longer. There is something going on, and I think you know what it is.” She took a deep breath, as if gathering up her courage. “I think somehow you’ve been waiting for this moment all of your life. I’ve always known there was something different about you, ever since we were small, but you would never explain. Never answer my questions. All of our lives I’ve done everything I can for you, but still you’ve never trusted me. Will you not trust me now? Will you not tell me what is going on?”
The boy stared back. What could he say? He knew she was right. Knew how very much he owed her. But he could say nothing. She would never
understand. Never believe. More than that, the Protector had forbidden it.
“We know not where our enemies will come from,” the Protector had told him, over and over. “Who they will use to accomplish their ends. You must trust no one.”
“But Catryn…” he had objected. “She has cared for me and been my friend almost since birth. Surely she would never…”
“No one.”
Disobedience was not possible.
“I cannot explain,” he said now. “I thank you for all you have done for me, but I cannot explain.” The words came out stiff and formal.
Catryn waited for a moment, but the boy remained silent.
“That is all?” Catryn asked finally. “That is all you will say to me?”
“It is all I can say.”
She whirled away from him.
The next day dragged interminably. The boy could hardly stir in the cramped space; the cold seeped into his bones. He finished the food Catryn had left for him, but, by the time darkness fell, his stomach was gnawed by hunger again. The dog still had not returned. He worried that the animal might not find him here, then dismissed that thought. He knew well that the dog could find him anywhere on earth. As could the dark stranger, it seemed. But
where had the dog gone? Why, now, when the boy needed him most, had it suddenly disappeared?
It was even later than the previous night before Catryn finally came back. She squeezed in beside him and handed him another bundle. He tore it open and fell upon the bread and cheese it contained. She had brought him a flask of thin ale, and he gulped it down between bites.
“There is terrible trouble at the inn,” Catryn said. “When you were nowhere to be found, the stranger flew into a rage. He stormed at the master and, I think, would have struck him. He has promised to hang whoever helped you to escape. And he is certain you had warning.” Catryn’s voice wavered.
“Does anyone suspect you?”
“I…I don’t think so.”
“You sound unsure.”
“No one suspects me.” Her tone was firm again. “You needn’t worry yourself on that account.” There was a defiance in the words and, this time, definitely an anger.
The boy chose to believe her. What else could he do? But he could at least warn her. Surely that was not betraying his secret.
“You might be in danger, Catryn. Because of me. Take care of yourself. Come not again to me.” Against his will, his tongue tripped on. “There is something I must do. Somewhere I must go. You must not be involved.”
“What must you do? Where will you go?” The words shot out at him.
“I cannot say.” Desperate now, knowing he had said too much already, he still could not stop the words. “Truth, I do not absolutely know myself.”
“So you will just disappear.” Her words were ragged and sharp-edged, as if finally Catryn had had enough. “You intend to leave me here to wonder for the rest of my life what has happened to you, who you really are. That is how little you care. That is how little I mean to you. It matters nothing to you that when you are gone, I will be left here. Without you—without a friend in the world.”
The boy jumped to his feet.
“I must!” He held out his hands to her, but she leaped up as well and with one furious stride was at the door.
“Then I wish you well,” she said coldly, and slipped back out into the darkness.
The boy took a step after her, but she was gone.
The dog returned after the moon was fully risen. The boy jumped up at the sight of it, his relief almost overwhelming. He had spent the intervening hours in despair. For the first time he had faced the
fact that he would be leaving Catryn. How could he? He felt as if he were betraying her. He had thought that when the time came he would be able to leave her—knew that he must. But he had never allowed himself to realize just what that would mean. Life without Catryn? It was inconceivable.
The dog gave him no time, however. It uttered a short, commanding bark, then turned to leave again. The boy knew he must follow. He struggled to his feet. He was stiff with the enforced inactivity and the cold, but that wasn’t what slowed him. He had to force his feet to move, one after the other, a shroud of guilt weighing down his every step.
The dog would not be denied. As they emerged from the hut, moonlight flooded the kitchen gardens, reflecting off the ghostly frost that covered the leaves of every tree and bush. The boy’s breath steamed into the night air. He shrank back at the unexpected brightness of the moon, then followed the dog warily into the shadows under the fruit trees along the edges. They reached the stable yard and paused. The hounds stirred; a low growl from the dog sent them slinking back. The inn was dark, but a single candle flickered in one upstairs room. The stranger waited for him there. The boy was as certain of it as if he could see him. But where was Catryn?