The Dragon Keeper

knew she had once suspected Hest of infidelity. It would betray her vows to Hest, and worse, it would put Sedric in an untenable position. No. She couldn’t do that to her friend. Had he noticed her sudden silence? She hoped not. She lifted her hand from his arm and broke free of him, hurrying a little ahead to exclaim inanely, “There is just no end to these immense trees! How they shade the land and water!”

Clef was standing beside the short ladder that led to the foredeck. He offered her his hand, but she waved him off gaily with a confidence she didn’t feel. The bulk of her skirts and petticoats pressed against the stanchions as she climbed to the foredeck. At the top, she stepped on the hem of her skirt gaining the upper deck, and stumbled forward, narrowly avoiding a fall.

“Ma’am!” Clef exclaimed in alarm behind her, and she said “Oh, I’m quite all right. Just a bit clumsy. That’s me!” She patted her hair, smoothed down her skirts and looked around expectantly. The deck narrowed before her, and there seemed to be an inordinate number of ropes and cleats and things she had no names for. As she advanced to the very point of the bow, she could see the back of Paragon’s head below the bowsprit. His hair was dark and curly.

“Please, go on forward to speak to him,” Clef urged her. Behind her, she heard Sedric’s muttering as he gained the deck. She didn’t look back at him, but pushed forward until she leaned on a railing and could look over the side. She had known, but it was still a bit startling to see that the much larger-than-life figurehead was not clothed. His bare tanned back was toward her. His muscular arms were crossed in front of him.

“Good day,” she began and then halted, tongue-tied. Was that how one addressed a liveship? Should she call him “sir” or “Paragon”? Treat him as a man or a ship?

At that moment, he twisted his torso and neck to look back at her. “Good day, Alise Kincarron. I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

His eyes were a pale blue, startling in his weathered face. She could not look away from him. He had the colouring of a man but the fine grain of his wizardwood showed in his face. It looked as flexible as skin but obviously was not. She realized she was staring and looked aside. “Actually, my name is Alise Finbok,” she began, and then wondered how he had known her maiden name at all. She pushed the unsettling thought aside and decided to be both bold and blunt. “I’m so pleased to speak with you as well. I felt shy about coming forward to meet you; I wasn’t quite sure of the protocol. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

Paragon had turned away from her, putting his attention back on the river. He shrugged one bare shoulder. “There is no protocol that I know of for speaking to a liveship, other than what each ship makes for himself. Some passengers come and greet me immediately, before they board. A few never speak a word to me. At least, not intentionally.” He flashed her a knowing grin over his shoulder, as if amused that his words discomfited her. “And some few passengers intrigue me enough that I invite them to come forward for conversation.” He put his gaze back on the river.

Alise’s heart was beating faster and her cheeks were warm. She could not decide if she were flattered or frightened. Was the ship implying that he’d been aware of their conversation about dragons? He was “intrigued” by her, a high compliment from a creature that should have been a dragon. Yet beneath that giddy feeling of being recognized by such a magnificent being roiled the uneasiness of what Sedric had forced her to recall. This was Paragon, the mad ship, once better known as the Pariah. All sorts of rumours had circulated about him in Bingtown, but that he had killed his entire crew not once but several times was no rumour but undeniable fact. It was only now, speaking to him, watching how he alone seemed to determine his course up the river that she realized how completely in his power she was. It was only now that she realized just how truly alive a liveship was. This was a dangerous creature, to be treated with both caution and respect.

As if he had read her thoughts, Paragon turned his head and bared his white teeth in a smile. It sent a shiver up her spine. She recalled that his original boyish face had been damaged, chopped to pieces; some said by pirates, while others believed his own crew had done it. But someone had re-carved the splintered wood into the visage of a handsome if scarred young man. The youthfulness of that human face collided with her mental image of Paragon as a wise and ancient dragon. The contrast unsettled her. As a result, her words were more stiffly formal than she intended when she asked, “Of what did you wish to speak to me?”

He was unruffled. “Of dragons. And liveships. I’ve heard gossip that you are headed up river, not just to Trehaug, which is the end of my run, but beyond the deep water and up to Cassarick. Is that true?”

Gossip? she wanted to ask him. Instead she replied, “Yes. That’s true. I’m something of a scholar of dragons and Elderlings, and the purpose of my journey is to see the young dragons for myself. I wish to study them. I hope to be able to interview them and ask them what ancestral memories they have of Elderlings.” She smiled, pleased with herself as she added, “I’m actually a bit surprised to discover that no one before me has thought to do this.”

“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 grey. “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 rancour, 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 grey. “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