house?"
Kkitakk appeared peeved. "What about it?" He sounded oddly defensive.
"Who lives there now?"
"We've turned it into a guesthouse for visitors who want to spend a few days at a dragon farm."
Maybe I should declare myself a visitor so I can stay in that quiet house. Not that anyone would let me get away with that.
Suddenly light-headed, he still made it to the door with his head held high. Behind him the babble of voices continued, like the
pick-buzz
in a field full of insects. He paid them no more notice.
On his way to the bunkroom, Jakkin forgot about the argument over Federation status and thought instead about the way Errikkin had angrily fled the dining hall. It was puzzling. A year ago he and Errikkin had been close.
Best friends.
He'd bought Errikkin's bond with the money he made when Heart's Blood became a champion. Even offered to free Errikkinâhad forgiven him.
But now Errikkin seemed changed.
In truth, everything was changed: Jakkin's friends, the nursery, the world. Some for the better, some for the worse. And he and Akkiâespeciallyâhad changed. More than anyone at the nursery could imagine.
Shivering suddenly, as if the earth beneath his feet trembled, Jakkin sighed.
We're going to be more alone here, surrounded by everyone and everything we know, than we were out in the mountains.
There was no comfort in that thought.
5
NIGHT.
Dark.
Jakkin woke and stared at the ceiling of his shared room for a long while before deciding to get up. The mattress felt uncomfortably soft beneath him and he was no longer sleepy. And even if he were, the snores of the boys around him guaranteed that falling back to sleep would be impossible.
Careful not to make any noise, he got dressed in his bonder pants and shirt. Though he supposed they weren't called bonder pants anymore.
Maybe freedom pants?
Carrying his old sandals, he tiptoed along the corridor until he got to the front door of the bondhouse. He eased it open, careful not to let it squeal, and stepped out into the black night.
Once outside, he put on his sandals, then stared up at the twin moons. Soon it would be Dark-After and its death-bringing cold. "Dark-After, nothing after," bonders said. Everyone knew that only crazy people, no-hopers, or weeders went out once the bone-chill settled in. And if they went out, they died.
Of course, he was neither crazy nor suicidal, and once away from the bondhouse, walking quietly along the path, Jakkin would be safe. No one else could follow him into the nightâexcept Akki, of course. Most of the windows would be shuttered against the cold and everyone was asleep. No one would see him. He felt an iciness on his cheeks, on his hands, but it was more of a tingle than a searing cold.
Above him, in their red phase, the twin moons sailed across the sky, leaving a trail of crimson. The path was outlined in their red light. He shivered. Not with cold, but with a chill of premonition. He felt the moons were scribbling a warning. A warning written in blood.
The blood of the egg chamber?
He shivered again. Maybe it was a premonition of spilled blood. The blood of all the dragons on the planet, slaughtered so humans could have the gift of mind-sendings, the ability to withstand the cold of Dark-After. This time when he shivered, he couldn't stop.
Reaching the round incubarn, Jakkin hauled on the door. As before, it squalled in protest. He heaved again and at last got it open. Inside, the heat was so intense, he felt as if he were walking into a stone wall. The barn was kept at a constant thirty-four degrees centigrade, partly by electrics and partly by dragon body heat.
In the cozy stalls where hen dragons bedded down with their dragonlings, something squawked. He figured it was one of the little dragons, for they often peeped and piped their distress at being awakened before they were ready. In separate quarters, half-grown dragons huddling together for company and warmth houghed as Jakkin went past.
Kkitakk appeared peeved. "What about it?" He sounded oddly defensive.
"Who lives there now?"
"We've turned it into a guesthouse for visitors who want to spend a few days at a dragon farm."
Maybe I should declare myself a visitor so I can stay in that quiet house. Not that anyone would let me get away with that.
Suddenly light-headed, he still made it to the door with his head held high. Behind him the babble of voices continued, like the
pick-buzz
in a field full of insects. He paid them no more notice.
On his way to the bunkroom, Jakkin forgot about the argument over Federation status and thought instead about the way Errikkin had angrily fled the dining hall. It was puzzling. A year ago he and Errikkin had been close.
Best friends.
He'd bought Errikkin's bond with the money he made when Heart's Blood became a champion. Even offered to free Errikkinâhad forgiven him.
But now Errikkin seemed changed.
In truth, everything was changed: Jakkin's friends, the nursery, the world. Some for the better, some for the worse. And he and Akkiâespeciallyâhad changed. More than anyone at the nursery could imagine.
Shivering suddenly, as if the earth beneath his feet trembled, Jakkin sighed.
We're going to be more alone here, surrounded by everyone and everything we know, than we were out in the mountains.
There was no comfort in that thought.
5
NIGHT.
Dark.
Jakkin woke and stared at the ceiling of his shared room for a long while before deciding to get up. The mattress felt uncomfortably soft beneath him and he was no longer sleepy. And even if he were, the snores of the boys around him guaranteed that falling back to sleep would be impossible.
Careful not to make any noise, he got dressed in his bonder pants and shirt. Though he supposed they weren't called bonder pants anymore.
Maybe freedom pants?
Carrying his old sandals, he tiptoed along the corridor until he got to the front door of the bondhouse. He eased it open, careful not to let it squeal, and stepped out into the black night.
Once outside, he put on his sandals, then stared up at the twin moons. Soon it would be Dark-After and its death-bringing cold. "Dark-After, nothing after," bonders said. Everyone knew that only crazy people, no-hopers, or weeders went out once the bone-chill settled in. And if they went out, they died.
Of course, he was neither crazy nor suicidal, and once away from the bondhouse, walking quietly along the path, Jakkin would be safe. No one else could follow him into the nightâexcept Akki, of course. Most of the windows would be shuttered against the cold and everyone was asleep. No one would see him. He felt an iciness on his cheeks, on his hands, but it was more of a tingle than a searing cold.
Above him, in their red phase, the twin moons sailed across the sky, leaving a trail of crimson. The path was outlined in their red light. He shivered. Not with cold, but with a chill of premonition. He felt the moons were scribbling a warning. A warning written in blood.
The blood of the egg chamber?
He shivered again. Maybe it was a premonition of spilled blood. The blood of all the dragons on the planet, slaughtered so humans could have the gift of mind-sendings, the ability to withstand the cold of Dark-After. This time when he shivered, he couldn't stop.
Reaching the round incubarn, Jakkin hauled on the door. As before, it squalled in protest. He heaved again and at last got it open. Inside, the heat was so intense, he felt as if he were walking into a stone wall. The barn was kept at a constant thirty-four degrees centigrade, partly by electrics and partly by dragon body heat.
In the cozy stalls where hen dragons bedded down with their dragonlings, something squawked. He figured it was one of the little dragons, for they often peeped and piped their distress at being awakened before they were ready. In separate quarters, half-grown dragons huddling together for company and warmth houghed as Jakkin went past.
Similar Books
