He shrugged. “Only the spirits know what will happen then.”
“That’s not what I mean. What about the part of your life you share with another?”
“Duranix is my friend — ”
She rolled her eyes. “A mate, idiot! Have you ever had a mate?”
“No. I haven’t had time. There was a girl in the village, Halshi…” Amero’s hazel eyes clouded with the painful memory of the cave-in. “But she died, not long before you came.”
“Did you love her?”
Amero considered, then decided if he had to think about it so hard, the answer must be no. “I liked her. There wasn’t time for more,” he said. Shifting uncomfortably, he changed the subject. “What about you? Any man caught your eye?”
She shook her head violently.
“What about Pa’alu? He seems a fine fellow.”
Nianki’s eyes glittered in the half-light. “Pa’alu is the biggest fool on the plains. Soon, he’ll pay for his foolishness.”
The quiet savagery of her tone sent a chill through Amero. He put another split on the fire.
“I should find a mate,” he said, nodding. “I don’t suppose I can spend the rest of my life in a cave with a dragon.”
“A village girl, I suppose.”
“I don’t know. What about one of your fierce nomad women? Is there one you’d like to recommend?”
Her voice fell to a whisper. “Do you like fierce women?”
“I like you, and you’re pretty ferocious.” Nianki looked away. “When I wonder about a mate, I find myself thinking about women like our mother. She was a good companion to Oto and a good mother to us, don’t you think?”
Silence. Nianki was staring into the flames and Amero put her lack of response down to weariness. He was certainly tired.
He yawned. “I’m done! You’re welcome to stay here tonight. Sleep well, Nianki.”
The fire shrank to a bed of glowing coals. Amero crawled into the hollowed-out bowl in the rock floor that was his bed. He was asleep in moments.
He dreamed he felt his mother’s hand caress his face, like she did when he was a child. Though part of him knew it had to be a dream, it was a profoundly comforting one. He slept on in blissful peace.
Chapter 19
After a stormy month, the valley grew quiet again. Fighting between nomads and villagers declined. Nianki seemed recovered and ceased her aimless wandering, muttering, and weeping. The rumor spread she cured herself by cutting her hair so severely, and later it became a common sight in Yala-tene to see men and women with closely shorn hair after bouts of sickness or bad temper.
The last big harvest from the summer gardens was due, and Amero asked Nianki to organize the nomads to help gather in the vegetables. She convinced nearly all of the three hundred nomads to work the harvest, realizing the hard work would be a good outlet for her people. The only ones who did not work were the very old, the very young, the ill, and one other: Pa’alu. He had disappeared again.
Duranix continued to wear the harness on his broken wing. Fine weather made him yearn to fly, and frustration at his inability to do so led to dangerous displays of lightning in the valley. Finally, Amero suggested the dragon leave the village for a while.
“Take a journey,” Amero said. “Explore.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” asked the dragon, waving his one good wing. “I cannot fly, and being human hurts too much.” Whatever human form he might take, he would still have a broken arm until his wing healed, and the more he shapeshifted, the longer the healing would take.
“Go as you are,” Amero told him. “You have four good feet. Use them.”
Duranix lifted one foreclaw and studied it. He frowned, considering his friend’s words. “Walking is so undignified,” he muttered.
“So is whining.”
The voice belonged to Nianki. Amero and the dragon turned to watch as she approached.
Her face was scrubbed clean, and she wore a new buckskin shirt and divided kilt, bare of any beadwork. Her hair had grown back just enough to cover her nearly bald spots, and she did not wear her chieftain’s headband. Aside from being thinner than before and having hair shorter than her brother’s, she looked well. She carried a large basket in one hand.
“I’m going to pick apples,” she said. “What about you?”
“I’ll be there soon,” Amero replied.
“I won’t be,” Duranix announced. He eyed Amero. “I’m going for a walk.”
Nianki nodded, bid the dragon good-bye, and departed to join the column of plainsfolk heading for the rope bridge. Her brother watched her thoughtfully.
“She’s come through it, whatever it was,” he said. “I don’t mind telling you, I was afraid for a while. I thought she’d lost her wits forever.”
“She’s a strong woman, but I don’t think she’s over her trouble, just coping with it more effectively.”
“Oh? What do you know about her trouble?”
The dragon bent his long neck, bringing his horned, bronze-scaled face down to Amero’s level. “She’s human and your sister. That’s trouble enough.”
They walked side by side through the maze of tents and lean-tos that was the nomad camp. Eventually the shelters became too dense for Duranix, and he detoured to the shoreline of the lake. He waded out until his claws were submerged. The buoyancy of the water made it easier for him to move.
“Where will you go?” Amero asked, following along the shore.
“West, I think. I’ve spent a lot of time in the east and south this year. I should have a wider look around. Sthenn’s been quiet since the Greengall incident, but it wouldn’t hurt to reconnoiter the western plains.”
They reached the foot of the bridge. To the right, the cattle and horses got wind of the dragon and began to mill about in anxiety. Duranix stretched low and slipped under the bridge. Once under, he climbed the west bank and stood erect, sunlight glistening on his wet scales.
“Have a good walk, and come back soon,” Amero said.
“I don’t know how far I’ll go, but I should return in two or three days.”
Duranix trundled away. Amero had never seen the dragon walk more than a few steps at a time. His rear legs had a wobble in them that Amero had never noticed before.
As he fondly watched the dragon depart, Amero suddenly realized he’d forgotten his reed hat. If he was going to work all day outside, he’d need the hat to keep the low autumn sun out of his eyes.
He walked briskly back to the foot of the waterfall. Soon he was descending in the hoist with the brown reed hat on his head. The scene beneath him was as still as a forest glade. The nomad camp was empty. A slight haze from burned-out campfires hung over the patched, irregular tents. Beyond the camp, a few solitary craftsmen stirred in the alleys of Yala-tene, but the village too was unnaturally calm. As he surveyed the scene, only one thing stood out — a lone figure leaning against the dragon’s offering cairn. Whoever it was, he took care to lurk on the shaded side, so it was impossible for Amero to see who it was.
The basket bumped into solid ground and stopped. Amero stepped out and tied off the counterweight. He detoured away from the lake, curious to see who was lingering by the cairn.
The tall, well-made person had his back to Amero. He was dressed in the skimpy clothes of a nomad and had waist-length chestnut-colored hair, drawn back in thick hank and held with a carved bone clip.
Amero’s footsteps echoed dully off the stone sides of the cairn. The man turned suddenly, revealing his face.
“Pa’alu!”
“Greetings, Arkuden.”
