Shards of History Page 4

  His dragon lay beneath a nearby copse of fir trees, enjoying the shade. Her tail curled around her, and she rested her head on her forelegs. When Kushtrim appeared, she raised her head.

  Ravlin and Niktos led the Jegudun out by its chains. The creature struggled, digging his heels into the ground, whipping his head back and forth and snorting.

  Kushtrim pointed to the ground just in front of the tent. “Stake him there.”

  He made sure the other four Jeguduns could see the one outside. All eyes, Jegudun, Maddion, and dragon, were on him, waiting. If he went ahead with this, there was no turning back. He would destroy any possible friendly relations between Jeguduns and Maddion for at least the next century, thanks to their long, communal memories.

  Then he focused on one face. Okpairo stood behind everybody, emotions warring across his countenance. He’d held his infant son as he died, then lovingly prepared the tiny body and the funeral pyre. He had remained beside it long into the night as the fire burned itself out, and he’d been there the next morning when the embers had nearly cooled. Many other Maddion had played out the same scene. Kushtrim’s people came first.

  With a sigh, he nodded to his dragon. “He’s all yours.”

  In one fluid motion, she rose to her feet and moved forward, her sinuous neck outstretched. Kushtrim ducked back inside the tent.

  Framed by the opening, the dragon approached the Jegudun. The creature struggled against the chains, twisting one way and the other. He let out muffled grunts. The stake began to loosen.

  The dragon sniffed at him. Her tongue darted out and licked him. The Jegudun threw himself against the chain, his feet pushing against the ground, sending clods of dirt flying. The stake started to lean with him.

  The dragon rose to her full height, towering over the Jegudun. Her sides pulsated faster. She clamped one claw on his shoulder. With the other, she ripped open his belly, spilling blood and intestines. She held him from crumpling to the ground.

  The other Jeguduns turned away from the sight. Kushtrim called to Niktos and Ravlin and, with their help, kept the Jeguduns facing forward, their eyes open to take in the dragon swallowing their companion’s flesh, accompanied by her satisfied grunts and the sound of crunching bone. Kushtrim found it fitting that they watch one of their own die as he’d watched so many of his people die.

  The metallic tang of blood soon filled the hot air in the tent. In moments, the dragon had her fill. All that remained were a few feathers trapped in the grass and blood stains in the dirt.

  “He didn’t have to die,” Kushtrim said to the four remaining Jeguduns. “Neither do the rest of you. I ask again, who will bring me a Taakwa?”

  None responded.

  “We have many hungry dragons.”

  Still, none responded.

  Ravlin studied the bloody ground with interest. Niktos, his face pale, carefully kept his gaze focused on the rear of the tent.

  Kushtrim pointed to the sable Jegudun, the one the female seemed especially close to. “Bring that one out next.”

  The guards moved to separate him from the group. The female grabbed his chain, playing a sort of tug-of-war with the guards. Ravlin let go of the chain. He pulled his battle axe free and held it to the female’s throat.

  The male Jegudun eased the female’s hands from his chain. Then he stepped away from the group. Ravlin lowered the axe.

  The female trilled mournfully.

  Kushtrim approached her. “You wish to save him?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “Then you’ll bring me a Taakwa?”

  She nodded again, her eyes wide and fixed on the sable Jegudun.

  “Then you’ll bring me a Taakwa, alive, by sunset tomorrow and I’ll spare his life. Do you understand? No Taakwa, and he dies.”

  She nodded a third time. Ravlin and Niktos brought the sable Jegudun back to the group and led the female outside. Ravlin’s brows were raised, questioning. Kushtrim nodded.

  The guards untied her wings and unchained her wrists. They saved freeing her snout for last. She shook herself out. She uttered a series of trills and chirps to the remaining three Jeguduns, then darted away. She launched herself into the air. She grew small quickly, finally disappearing in the distance. And with her flew their hope for reaching the healing waters in the valley.

  Chapter 4

  Malia spent the entire night thinking of the injured Jegudun. He was intelligent, no doubting that. And he seemed friendly, or at least cooperative. She wondered how many Jeguduns were like him. Maybe, if they were indeed planning some type of war against the Taakwa, he could convince his people to stop. Maybe, through him, they could figure out what the Jeguduns wanted.

  When dawn hinted its approach, she covered the bottom of a basket with dried meat, a handful of pecans, a hunk of bread, and a little bowl filled with bean and husk tomato stew, still warm from having spent all night over her hearth. Normally she added pepper to the stew, but she’d left it out this time. She intended the food for the injured Jegudun, and since she had no idea what he’d eat, she had decided to bring him a little of everything. A folded blanket went on top of the food to hide it from prying eyes. On top of that she sat the stone scoop she used when digging for clay to use in her pottery.

  Malia propped the basket against one hip as she climbed down the creaky wooden ladder from her second-level home.

  All homes in Selu formed a large circle, sharing thick mud-brick walls. Some stood one story high, others as much as three. A few narrow alleys allowed people in or out of the village.

  Malia headed for the nearest alley. Shades of violet lightened in the east as the sky prepared for the sun’s rising. The air was cool, and filled with the faint aroma of baking bread that wafted from the homes of other early risers. This was home—the people, the sights, the smells—and she wanted to protect it.

  “Malia!” The voice came from behind her.

  She cringed. Turning, she found her mother—Selu’s clan mother—striding towards her. Strands representing every Selu family formed a thick belt around her ample hips, representing her most important job, that of the one person in their village able to arrange marriages and keep track of lineages. A worn leather strap circled her neck, frayed sable Jegudun feathers hanging from it. A few strands of gray marred her otherwise black hair, which was pulled into a bun like Malia’s and tied in place with a beaded leather strap.

  Her mother gestured to the basket. “Where are you going so early?”

  “I need more clay. I thought I’d go before it got too hot. And you?”

  “The Maslam clan is expecting me for breakfast. I’m bringing news that their son is to marry the oldest Chokar girl.”

  The Maslam family lived in the opposite direction, which meant her mother had sought her out. And, given how she hadn’t gotten straight to the point, she had news she knew Malia didn’t want to hear. “I’d better let you deliver the good news, then. Unless there’s something else?” She shifted the basket to her other hip.

  Her mother nodded. “I’ve considered your request to end your marriage to Dalibor.”

  “Oh?” Malia’s heart rose to her throat.

  “I refuse to allow it.”

  “But—” She had told her mother all that had happened that night. “Why?”

  “I spoke with Dalibor last night. He said he never struck you. You said he never struck you.”

  “Yes, but he shoved me against the wall. If you could have seen his eyes—”

  Her mother waved a hand dismissively. “He was apologetic last night and on the verge of tears. I believe in the heat of the moment, after he accidentally broke the bowl, you found him dangerous when he was not.”

  “That was no accident.” Shrillness crept into Malia’s voice. “The bowl didn’t slip out of his hands. He broke it purposefully, knowing what it meant to me. And then he threatened me.”

  “If you had come to get me right away, let me look at the bowl, I would have had proof.”

 
; “So you’re taking his word over mine.” A quivering began in her belly and slowly spread. Her mother had always been a source of frustration for her, but this was new. How could she dismiss Malia so easily?

  “He didn’t hit you. He didn’t abuse your marriage bed. He didn’t shirk his duties towards you. If he had done any of these things, I would grant you the end of your marriage.”

  “But he threatened me.”

  “Did you know that despite his injuries he hunted on the way home so he could bring food to the Puertalos clan?”

  Ashta’s husband had broken his leg and been unable to hunt, and they had three children. Malia had brought food to them a few days earlier, while the men had been at the falls.

  Her mother continued, “He is one of the best hunters in this village. With the crops doing poorly, we’ll all have to rely on hunting more this year unless the river rises soon.”

  At last, the real reason for her mother’s decision began to reveal itself. She thought they needed every available man to hunt for food in case things got worse. Malia felt as though her mother was backing her into a corner.

  “For the good of the village,” her mother said, “you will take him back into your home.” She averted her eyes for just a moment, but it was enough to let Malia know her mother didn’t quite like what she was saying. But, she was thinking of the entire village and weighing everybody’s needs against Malia’s.

  Malia could refuse. Punishment would mean all of Selu’s villagers would shun her for three days. And if she refused again, she would lose all her possessions to Dalibor. She thought again of the way he had shoved her against the wall and pinned her there, his eyes shining with rage. It might be worth it, to be safe from him. And if she had only herself to think of, she would probably refuse to take him back.

  But her mother was right about Dalibor’s hunting skills. He could easily bring back enough food for several families. If Malia insisted on ending their marriage, he would return to his home village of Braigo. If the river continued as it had been, Selu would need all the help it could get to make it through the coming winter.

  But if the river wasn’t low, if they didn’t have a food shortage looming, her mother might have agreed to end Malia’s marriage, which gave her all the more reason to get information from the injured Jegudun. She had to find out what was wrong with the river.

  “What if he hits me?” Malia asked.

  “Then of course I would grant you an end to your marriage.” Her mother spoke as if insulted Malia might think otherwise. “You’ll take him back into your home by the time the sun sets tonight. I’ll be there to make sure there aren’t any misunderstandings.”

  Malia bit her lower lip. She could refuse. She should refuse. Instead, she nodded. “For the good of the village, I’ll take him back. But one day if I end up shattered like the bowl, remember the part you played in this.”

  A startled look crossed her mother’s face. Malia turned and walked away, expecting some final remark from her mother, but only silence followed. In the narrow alley, alone, she sagged against the wall.

  She would have to be careful around Dalibor. She found him more dangerous than an injured Jegudun.

  The sound of people greeting each other drove her from the alley and towards the meadow where she’d found the creature. It took a while for her body’s trembling to ease.

  Chapter 5

  Malia stepped into the meadow. No Jegudun. Her shoulders slumped.

  Bees moved lazily from one bergamot flower to another, their droning constant. She took in a deep breath of the flowers’ minty smell as she moved to the meadow’s center and turned in a slow circle. She hadn’t imagined the whole thing, had she? The Jegudun hadn’t seemed well enough to fly away. Perhaps he had tried walking.

  A hiss came from the shadows beneath a dense stand of aspen. The dim morning light and the Jegudun’s gray coloring helped it blend in.

  Malia fumbled under the blanket for food. The Jegudun stepped forward, hissing louder and baring his teeth. Malia hastily pulled out a strip of dried venison, trying to keep her hand steady as she held it out. This might not have been as good an idea as it had seemed last night.

  “I—I brought you something to eat.”

  The Jegudun fell silent but did not move forward to take the food. Malia set it on the ground and stepped back, well out of striking range. And from the creature’s perspective, out of range of her dagger, which she kept hidden beneath her skirt today. Her hands clutched the basket hard enough that her knuckles paled.

  “It’s deer meat,” she said, as if the explanation would comfort the Jegudun enough to trust her.

  He limped forward, picked up the venison, and sniffed it. Then he wolfed it down.

  A fleeting smile crossed Malia’s face. This was the beginning of a tentative friendship, one she had never imagined. She set the basket down, took the blanket out and spread it on a bare patch of earth in the shade of an aspen, then sat. She pushed the basket forward. “There’s more.”

  A few hesitant steps brought the Jegudun to the basket. He sat, keeping the basket between himself and Malia. He munched on the pecans, ignored the bread, then held up the bowl of stew. He tilted his head and trilled inquisitively.

  “It’s stew. Husk tomatoes and beans.”

  The Jegudun smelled it. A long, pink tongue darted into the bowl. He smacked a couple of times, his gaze in the distance as if appraising it. Then he tipped the bowl and poured the stew in his mouth. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  The blood on his left shoulder had dried. He hardly moved that arm, and he held his right wing almost straight out. The other folded neatly behind him, its apex rising above his shoulder.

  Silence descended between them, without even the bees’ drone to fill it. Malia plucked a few loose strands from the basket, whirling each into a ball before dropping it in the grass. What now? “My name is Malia.”

  The Jegudun let out a low trill.

  “Ah, I didn’t quite catch that.” How would they communicate? He seemed to understand her, but she couldn’t make out his language at all.

  “I would have brought something for that,” she said, pointing to his wound, “but only the men learn healing skills.” She clasped her sweaty palms together, then wiped them on her skirt. “Where is home for you?”

  He pointed north.

  Malia sat up straighter. “Oh, do you live near the falls?”

  The Jegudun nodded.

  He would definitely know what was wrong with the river. Malia had had a view of Tuvin’s Falls from Enuwal’s home. She had spent many an afternoon gazing at them while working on her pottery, wondering what the world was like outside the valley. And sometimes Jeguduns circled near them, nearly indistinguishable from birds of prey.

  “Do you know why the river is drying up?”

  He made a series of whistles and chirps, moving his good arm as if describing something exciting.

  Malia held up her hands, trying to slow him down. He tapered off.

  “I don’t understand.”

  The Jegudun let out a puff of breath, making the down around his mouth flutter. He leaned forward and reached for Malia’s hand.

  She pulled back slightly. “You want … to hold my hand?”

  He shook his head, then let out a reassuring trill.

  Malia hesitated. It didn’t seem as if the Jegudun’s idea of holding hands was the same as hers. Maybe it was a custom of his kind. Regardless, she didn’t think he meant to hurt her. She rested her hand lightly in his.

  His palm was leathery and supple, and the down on the back of his hand tickled her skin. Malia held her breath, ready to snatch her hand back, just in case.

  Something tugged at her mind, as if asking her thoughts to go along with it. She let out an involuntary yelp and pulled her hand free from the Jegudun’s.

  “Are you doing that?”

  He nodded and held his hand out.

  Malia’s hand hovered
above his. Whatever she’d felt, it must be some sort of magic. Should she let the Jegudun do what he wanted?

  His eyes were dark, like rich earth flooded with water, and warm. He waited patiently, letting her curiosity battle with old fears that had been instilled in her ever since she could remember.

  “Will it hurt?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  Malia took a deep breath, then rested her hand in his palm.

  The tug came again, stronger this time, sweeping her mind away although her body remained in the meadow.

  She was above the valley, skimming along the tops of trees, the sun high overhead. The cliffs loomed, drawing nearer at an alarming rate. Malia let out a shriek, then turned at the last moment and glided next to the cliffs. A shadow stretched out beside her on the granite. It was the Jegudun’s. She was in his mind, experiencing everything as he did.

  The shadow revealed his short, stocky body, and his wings spread with the slightest crook in them. The air rushed past Malia’s face. To her left, the valley stretched, and the river split it down the center, the water glinting like hundreds of beads in the sunlight. Coming up to her right, the Big River leapt off the cliff, the roar of it growing louder. Then she passed directly in front of it, through the mist, the moisture clinging to her. Malia gasped.

  She felt as though she could spread her arms and hold the entire valley and cliffs in them. Then she rose and tilted, revealing what lay beyond the cliffs. The land stretched away, flat at first, then in rolling hills towards distant, snow-capped mountains.

  Well beyond the cliffs and outside the valley, a large village of tents laid out in precise lines dotted the land beside the river. Outsiders. Malia’s flight faltered. A stone dam blocked the river. It seemed the Outsiders were to blame for the river’s falling level. Relief that the Jeguduns had nothing to do with it battled with the discovery that so many Outsiders camped just outside the valley. Why were they doing this?

  She rose further. In the air above the camp, winged lizards flew with men astride them. Malia’s skin crawled. Stories of the great war spoke of the corpses of large lizards dotting the land. They were thought to be allies of the Jeguduns, but she now realized that they were at the command of the Outsiders. The creatures flew in formation similar to that of birds migrating in the fall, but their movements were much more precise. At arm signals from the man on the lead lizard, they all turned sharply to the right, then dipped towards the ground.