major expansion of the network of footbridges that connected the widely-scattered settlements on both sides of the Rain Wild River and a lot of debate as to how far a bridge of chain and wood could successfully be stretched. With a sinking heart, Thymara suspected she would be part of the team that would find out. Yes. That was probably it. Everyone in their neighbourhood knew of her prowess at climbing. And such work would require her to leave her home and live close to the project. It would take her far from her parents, and perhaps even promise a swift end to her existence. Her mother might welcome that.
Her mother’s voice was falsely cheery as she began her tale. “Well. There was a Trader in the trunk market today, dressed very fine in an embroidered robe, and with a scroll from the Rain Wild Council. He said he had come looking for strong young people, for people without spouses or children, to undertake a special task in service to Trehaug and to all the Rain Wilders. The pay would be very good, he said, and an advance would be given immediately, even before the task was begun, and at the end when the workers returned to Trehaug, they would be well rewarded for their efforts. He said he expected many people would wish to be chosen, but that the candidates must be exceptionally hardy and tough.”
Thymara stifled her impatience. Her mother could never simply state something. She told a story or a piece of news by talking all around it. Asking her questions would simply take her down yet another side track. Thymara pressed her teeth together and held her tongue.
Her father didn’t have her patience. “So it’s not a marriage offer; it’s an offer of work. Thymara already has work. She helps me gather. And why should she wish for ‘a life of her own’ as you put it, away from us? We are not getting any younger, and if there is a time when I would want her by my side, it is, as you put it, during our ‘declining years’. Who else do you think will take care of us? The Rain Wild Council?”
Her mother folded her lips tightly and the lines in her brow deepened. “Oh, very well, then,” she said bitterly. “I’ll say no more. I see I was foolish to listen to the man at all, or to think that Thymara might wish to have a bit of adventure in her life.” Almost quivering with indignation, she folded her lips and radiated silence and anger.
The main room of their house was tiny, but as her mother set the food on the woven pads onto the table mat, she pretended to ignore them. Thymara and her father both kept silent. Asking for more information would only increase her mother’s pleasure at withholding it from them. Feigning disinterest would win it more quickly. So her father filled the wash basin, used it, flung the dirty water out the window, and then refilled it for her. He passed it to her, saying casually, “I think that instead of harvesting tomorrow, we should make an expedition to bring back some new plants. Shall we rise early?”
“I suppose that would be wisest,” Thymara replied cautiously.
Her mother couldn’t stand that they appeared to be having a simple conversation. She spoke to the kura nuts she was grinding into paste. “I suppose I know nothing at all about my daughter. I thought she would be thrilled to work with the dragons. She seemed so interested in them when she was younger.”
Her father made a tiny hand motion at Thymara, cautioning her to keep silent so her mother would keep talking. Thymara couldn’t. “The dragons? The dragons I saw hatch, the abandoned dragons? I’d be working with them?”
Her mother gave a small, satisfied sniff. “Apparently not. Your father thinks it better that you remain here, to live with us until we shrivel up and die, and then for you to be alone for the rest of your life.” She set the bowl of mashed kura nuts on the food mat and placed a plate of weddle stalks beside it. She had baked flatbread at the community oven earlier in the day. There were six flats, two for each of them. It was not a plentiful or elaborate meal, but it would “fill the belly” as her father would say. Hungry as Thymara had been but a few seconds ago, she didn’t even want to look at it now.
But her father had been right. Thymara had fed her mother’s fury, not slaked it with her question and now the woman burned with a cold and righteous fire. She smiled, and made small talk during the meal, as if all were well and she were merely a subservient wife conceding to her husband’s demands. Thymara asked about it twice more, unable to resist the bait she had dangled, and each time her mother told her that surely Thymara would not want to leave home and family and she would say no more on such a silly topic.
All Thymara could do was simmer in her seething curiosity.
As soon as the meal was ended, Jerup announced he had errands and left the house. Thymara tidied away the remains of the meal, trying not to meet her mother’s resentful stare. As soon as she could, she left the house and the little walkways that connected it to its neighbours. She clambered higher in the canopy. She needed to think, and she’d do that best if she were alone. Dragons. What could the dragons possibly have to do with an offer for her?
Thymara had seen the dragons twice in her life. The first time had been five years ago, when Thymara had been almost eleven. Her father had taken her down the trunk and across the Necklace Bridges and then down, down, all the way to the earth. The trail that led to the hatchery by the riverbank had been trodden into muck by the passage of so many feet. That had been Thymara’s first visit to Cassarick.
The memory of watching them emerge haunted her still. Their wings had been weak and their flesh was thin on their bones. Tintaglia had come and gone, bringing fresh meat to feed them. Her father had felt sympathy for the poor misshapen creatures. A rueful smile twisted her mouth as she recalled his scrambling flight from one newly hatched dragon.
In the early days following the hatch, everyone had hoped that the dragons who survived would grow and prosper. Her father had been employed for a time as a hunter to help feed the dragons. But the densely forested Rain Wilds could not long support such large and ravenous carnivores. The best efforts of the hunters could not create more game than there was. The Council had become more and more penurious about paying for the hunters’ work. Her father soon quit that occupation and returned to their home in Trehaug. He told a sad tale of the sickly dragons quickly dying off. Those who remained grew larger, but not heartier nor more self-sufficient. “Sometimes Tintaglia comes, bringing meat, but one dragon cannot feed so many. And her shame for those poor creatures radiates from her. It will come to a bad end for all of us, I fear.”
For the earth-bound dragons, it had grown worse. For against all odds, Tintaglia had found a mate. All had believed that Tintaglia was the last true dragon in the world. To discover it was not so was shocking, and the tale of the black dragon that had risen from the ice was almost too far-fetched to believe.
Some prince of the far Six Duchies had unearthed the dragon, digging him out of an icy grave for reasons of his own, ones that did not matter to her. The black drake had not been dead after all; he had risen from his long and icy sleep and taken Tintaglia as his mate. They had flown off together to hunt and feed and mate. Wild as the tale was, one thing was unmistakably true: since that time, the queen dragon had returned to the Rain Wilds only sporadically. There were reports from some Rain Wilders that they had seen the two great dragons flying in the distance. Some said bitterly that now that she had no need of humans for companionship or aid, she had parted from them, not only abandoning to their care the ravenous young dragons but ceasing to cast her protective shadow over the waters of the Rain Wild River.
Even though Tintaglia had ceased to observe her end of their bargain, the Rain Wilders had little choice but to continue to care for the young dragons. As many had pointed out, the only thing worse than a herd of dragons living at the foot of your city was a herd of hungry, angry dragons living at the foot of your city. Although the cocooning grounds were substantially upriver of Trehaug, they were almost on top of the buried city of Cassarick. The most accessible parts of the ancient Elderling city beneath Trehaug had been mined of Elderling treasure long ago. Cassarick now seemed to offer the same potential, but only if the young dragons were kept in a frame of mind to allow the humans access to it.
Thymara wondered how many of the young dragons now remained alive. Not all of the serpents who entered their cocoons had emerged as dragons. The last time her father had journeyed to Cassarick, Thymara had gone with them. That had been a little more than two years ago. If she recalled correctly, there had been eighteen surviving creatures then. Disease, lack of fresh food and battles among themselves had taken a heavy toll on them. She had watched from the trees, not venturing near. The dirty hulking creatures seemed tragic, almost obscene when she recalled the glittering newness of the freshly emerged dragons. They were large, ill-formed hulks, smeared with mud, living in a trampled mucky area by the river. They stank. They stalked about listlessly, wading through their own droppings and nosing through the offal of old meals. None of the dragons had ever achieved the ability to fly. Some of them could hunt for their own food, in a very limited way. Their efforts consisted of wading out into the river and snatching at the migratory fish runs. A sensation of suppressed strife rose to her, thicker than their reptilian stench. She had turned away from them, unable to bear looking at the bony, ill-tempered
