The Dragon Keeper (27 page)

“They probably have, but discovered it was a waste of time to try to speak to those wretched animals.”

“I beg your pardon?” His dismissal of the young dragons shocked her.

“They’re no more dragons than I am,” Paragon replied carelessly. When he glanced back at her this time, his eyes were storm-cloud gray. “Haven’t you heard? They’re cripples, one and all. They were badly formed when they emerged from their cases and time has not improved them. The serpents were too long in the sea, far, far too long. And when they did finally migrate, they arrived badly nourished at the wrong time of the year. They should have come up the river in late summer, encased, and had plenty of fat and all of winter to change. Instead they were thin, tired, and old beyond counting. They arrived late and spent too short a time in their cases. More than half of them are already dead from what I hear, and the rest soon to follow. Studying them will teach you nothing about real dragons.” He was looking away from her, staring upriver. When he shook his head, his curling black hair danced with the motion. In a lower voice he added, “True dragons would scorn such creatures. Just as they would scorn me.”

She could not read the emotion behind his words. It could have been deep sorrow or utter defiance of their judgment. She tried to find words that would answer to either. “That scarcely seems fair. You cannot help what you are, any more than the young dragons can.”

“No. That is true. I could not prevent what was done to me, nor can I change what people made of me. But I know what I am and have decided to continue being what I am. That is not the decision a dragon would make. And thus do I know for myself that I am not a dragon.”

“Then what are you?” she asked unwillingly. She didn’t like the direction the conversation was going in. His words seemed almost an accusation. Did she feel tension emanating from the figurehead or was she imagining it?

“I am a liveship,” he replied, and although he spoke without rancor, there was a depth of feeling to his voice that seemed to thrum though the very planking under her feet. A finality filled those words, as if he spoke of an unending, never-changing fate. He did, she realized abruptly.

“How you must hate us for what we did to you.” Behind her, she heard Sedric give a small gasp of dismay. She ignored him.

“Hate you?” Paragon slowly digested her words before he spoke again. He did not turn to look at her, but kept his eyes focused on the river ahead of him as the ship moved steadily against the current. “Why would I waste my time with hate? What was done to me was unforgivable, of course. Completely unforgivable. Those who did it are no longer alive to be punished or to apologize. Even if they were and did, it would not undo what they did. The torments I endured cannot be undone. The stolen future cannot be given back to me. The companionship of my own kind, the chance to hunt and kill, to fight and mate, to live a life in which I am neither servant or master—all those things are forever lost to me.”

He did glance back at her now; the blue of his eyes had paled to an icy gray. “Can you think of anything that anyone could do to make up for it? Any sacrifice that could be offered that would be adequate reparation?”

Her heart was beating so hard that there was a ringing in her ears. Was that why he had rolled so many times and taken so many human lives? Did he think that enough humans had died in expiation for that sin against him, or would he demand more?

She hadn’t answered his questions. His voice was a bit more penetrating as he nudged her with, “Well? What sacrifice would be adequate?”

“None that I can think of,” she replied softly. She tightened her grip on the railing, wondering if he would immediately turn turtle and drown them all.

“Neither can I,” he replied. “No vengeance could resolve it. No sacrifice would make reparations for it.” He returned his gaze to the river. “And so I have decided to move beyond it. To be what I am now, in this incarnation, as no other is available to me. To have what life I may for as long as the wood of this body lasts me.”

She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Then you have forgiven us?”

Paragon gave a quiet snort. “Wrong on two points. I haven’t forgiven anything. And I don’t believe in the ‘us’ you think I might take vengeance on. You didn’t do this to me. But even if you had, killing you would not undo it.”

Behind her, Sedric suddenly spoke. “This is the not the attitude I would have expected from a dragon.”

Paragon gave a snort, half contempt, half amusement. “I told you. I am not a dragon. And neither are those creatures that you intend to visit and study. That’s why I called you forward. To tell you that. To tell you that there’s no point to your journey. Studying those pathetic wretches will not teach you anything about dragons. No more than studying me would.”

“How can they not be dragons?”

“In a world where dragons lived, they would not have survived.”

“Other dragons would have killed them?”

“Other dragons would have ignored them. They would have died and been eaten. Their memories and knowledge would have been preserved by those who fed upon them.”

“It seems cruel.”

“Would it have been crueler than enabling them to exist as they are now?”

She took a breath and then tried to speak boldly. “You have chosen to continue as you are. Should not they be given that choice?”

The muscles in his broad back tightened, and she felt a gout of fear. But when he turned back to her, there was a spark of respect in his blue eyes that had not been there before. He gave her a slow nod. “A point. But I still ask you to keep in mind, when you study those things, that they cannot teach you what dragons were. I am told that half of them hatched without the memories of their ancestors. How can they be dragons when they emerge not knowing what a dragon is?”

His comment carried her thoughts on a new current. “But you do. Because despite the shape you now inhabit, your dragon memories would be intact.” She gripped the ship’s rail tightly as a wild hope filled her. “Oh, Paragon, would you talk about them with me? It would be such an opportunity for me as a scholar of dragons, to hear firsthand what you recall! The very concept that dragons can recall their previous lives is so hard for humans to grasp. I should so dearly love to listen to whatever you wished to tell me, and to make a complete record of all you recall. Such conversations alone would make my journey worthwhile! Oh, please, say that you will!”

A taut quiet followed her words. “Alise,” Sedric said warningly, “I think you should come away from the railing.”

But she clung there, even though she, too, could feel the wave of uneasiness that swept though the ship. The smoothness went out of his sailing; the deck under her feet shifted subtly. Surely it was her imagination that the wind flowed more chill than it had? Paragon spoke into the roaring silence. “I choose not to remember,” he said. Alise felt as if his words broke a spell. Sound and life came suddenly back to the world. It included the sudden thud of feet on the deck behind her. A woman’s voice said, without preamble, “I fear you’re upsetting my ship. I’ll have to ask you to leave the foredeck.”

“She’s not upsetting me, Althea,” Paragon interjected as Alise turned to see the captain’s wife advancing on her. Alise had met her when they embarked and had spoken with her several times, but still did not feel at ease with her. She was a small woman who wore her hair in a long black pigtail down her back. She dressed in sailor’s garb; it was well tailored and of quality fabric, but for all that, she was a woman in trousers and a jacket. Less feminine garb Alise could not imagine, and yet the very inappropriateness of it seemed to emphasize her female form. Her eyes were very dark, and right now they sparked with either anger or fear. Alise retreated a step and put her hand on Sedric’s arm. For his part, he turned his body so that he stood almost between them and said, “I’m sure the lady meant no harm. The ship asked us to come up and speak with him.”

“That I did,” Paragon confirmed. He twisted to look over his shoulder at all of them. “No harm done, Althea, I assure you. We were speaking of dragons, and quite naturally, she asked me what I recalled of being one. I told her that I chose to recall nothing at all.”

“Oh, Ship,” the woman said, and Alise felt as if she had disappeared. Althea Trell did not even glance at her as she moved forward to take Alise’s place at the bow. She leaned on the railing and stared far ahead up the river as if sharing the ship’s thoughts.

“Par’gon!” A child’s voice piped suddenly behind them. Alise turned to watch a small boy of three or four clambering onto the raised foredeck. He was bare armed and bare legged and baked dark by the sun. He scampered forward, dropped to his hands and knees, and thrust his head out under the ship’s railing. Alise gasped, expecting him to pitch overboard at any moment. Instead he demanded the ship’s attention with a strident, “Par’gon? You awright?” His babyish voice was full of concern.

The ship swung his head around to stare at the child. His mouth puckered oddly and then suddenly he smiled, an expression that transformed his face. “I’m fine.”

“Catch me!” the boy commanded, and before his mother could even turn to him, he launched himself into the figurehead’s waiting hands. “Fly me!” the imp commanded the ship. “Fly me like a dragon!”

And without a word, the ship obeyed him. He cupped the child in his two immense hands and lifted him high and forward. The boy leaned fearlessly against the ship’s laced fingers and spread his small arms wide as if they were wings. The figurehead gently wove his hands through the air, swaying the youngster from left to right. A squeal of glee drifted back to them. Abruptly the charge of tension in the air vanished. Alise wondered if Paragon even recalled they were there.

“Let’s leave them, shall we?” Althea suggested quietly.

“Is it safe for the child?” Sedric objected in horror.

“It’s the safest place the boy can possibly be,” Althea replied with certainty. “And for the ship, it’s the best place, too. Please.” She indicated the ladder that led down to the deck. As they approached it, she added, “Do not take my words the wrong way. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to Paragon again.”

“He invited me to come forward!” Alise objected, her cheeks flaming.

“I’m sure he did,” Althea replied smoothly. “But all the same, I’d appreciate it if you declined any other invitations.” She paused as if she were finished speaking. Then, as Alise turned and tried to bustle her skirts out of the way to descend the ladder, she added in a quieter voice, “He’s a good ship. He has a great heart. But no one ever knows in advance what topics might upset him. Not even him.”

“Do you truly believe that he has forgotten his dragon memories?” Alise dared to ask.

Althea pressed her lips tightly for a moment. Then she said, “I choose to believe whatever my ship tells me about himself. If he tells me he has forgotten, then I don’t ask him to recall anything about it. Some memories are best left undisturbed. Sometimes, if you forget something, it’s because it’s better forgotten.”

Alise nodded. She was turning to put a foot on the ladder when a man spoke below her.

“Paragon all right?” Captain Trell asked, looking up. Alise blushed. She had very nearly stepped off the deck and onto the ladder. Her skirts would have been right over his head.

“He’s fine now,” Althea assured him. Then, as she noticed Alise’s dilemma, she smoothly suggested, “Brashen, would you offer Trader Finbok some assistance to descend?”

“Of course,” he replied, and with his offered hand she was able to descend in a more ladylike manner. In a moment, Sedric had joined her on the deck. He put out his arm and she was glad to take it. The events of the last hour had left her flustered, and for the first time she had serious doubts about the advisability of her journey. It was not just that the ship had told her she could not think of the young dragons as dragons, and implied that they would have no ancestral memories. That was daunting enough, but she suddenly also felt that perhaps she had badly underestimated how intimidating it might be to deal with such creatures. Her conversation with Paragon had rearranged her concept of dragons. She had been, she realized, thinking of them as youngsters. They weren’t. Not any more than Tintaglia had been a youngster when she emerged from her case. They might be smaller or crippled, but dragons came out of their cases, usually, as fully formed adults.

The captain had not moved away from her. Now, as his wife, Althea, joined him on the deck, they stood side by side, almost blocking her from moving away. The captain spoke courteously but firmly. “Perhaps in the future, it might be better if one of us accompanied you if you wished to speak with the ship. Sometimes those unfamiliar with liveships or with Paragon himself can find him unnerving. And sometimes he can be a bit . . . excitable.”

“The lady had no intention of alarming your ship,” Sedric informed Captain Trell, a bit stiffly. He put his hand firmly over Alise’s, a protective gesture that she found oddly reassuring. “The ship invited her forward to speak with him. And he was the one who brought up the topic of dragons.”

“Did he?” The captain exchanged a glance with his wife. She nodded slightly, and he shifted his feet. Alise felt that he granted them permission to move away. His tone was a bit more kindly as he admitted, “Well, I’m not surprised. We’ve had troubling news about the hatchlings almost every time we visit Trehaug. I think they weigh on his mind. We encourage Paragon not to dwell on things that he finds upsetting.”

“I understand,” Alise replied faintly. She wished the conversation were at an end. She did not do well at confrontation with strangers, she abruptly decided. With her own husband, she had barely been able to take a stand and feel courageous about doing so. But out here in the real world and almost on her own, she felt she had not done well at facing her first challenge. Even as she felt grateful for Sedric’s support, her gratitude shamed her.

“I think you might warn your passengers before they stumbled into such a circumstance,” Sedric said firmly. “Your ship is not the only one that might become alarmed. Neither of us sought conversation with him. On the contrary, he invited us forward.”