condition, for the beasts are holy, even if recognition of such divinity is oft conveniently reserved for the rare males of the species. So the cocoons are left in peace.
But eventually, all motion and sound stops within an in volucre. A clawful of days after the last visible movement, the dragon has completed her death journey to the Celes tial Realm. Then, and only then, the cocoons may be dis posed of.
As a member of the arbiyesku, that was now my primary responsibility: disposing of dragon cocoons, each month and every month, without fail.
And that was what I’d witnessed on my first full day in Clutch Xxamer Zu.
I wove clumsy baskets. I dozed. I wove mats. I dozed. I tried not to think about how repulsive the work of my new clan was. The sun relinquished its searing hold over the grass lands and sank into the horizon in a blaze of red.
I was ferociously hungry, but was loath to rummage about the arbiyesku in search of a food cellar. I didn’t know my new clan’s customs and rules regarding cellars and the handling and distribution of food, and I certainly couldn’t afford to alienate them any further than what I’d inadver tently done already.
I sighed and stared off into the gloaming. And tensed. Running along one of the many grassy paths that radi ated from the arbiyesku compound was a child. I lumbered to my feet, ignoring the pain in my ribs. Slowly the figure resolved itself as Savga. She staggered to a panting, beam ing stop before me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked sharply.
She paced wobbly-legged about me, wheezing as she tried to catch her breath. “Did you . . . miss me?”
“Where’re the others? What’s happened?”
“They’re coming. Slow, slow, always so slow. One of the carts broke and I was tired of waiting.”
“Should I go help?”
“Funny Kazonvia, you can hardly walk! And they’re a long way away, closer to the brooder stables than here.”
“So you came back alone.”
She shrugged. “Mama can’t beat me till she gets here.”
I grimaced. Her folly would hardly endear me to Tansan.
“Let’s you and I start the evening meal, yes?” she said. “I’ll blow on the embers to wake the fire.” She darted to ward one of the cooking pits. With a curse, I limped in her direction.
She was already on her hands and knees and sputtering from the hot soot she’d blown into her face by the time I reached her.
“Not like that! Great Dragon, you’ll burn yourself!” I stiffly knelt beside her and wiped her face with the hem of my bitoo.
“Not so rough!” she wailed.
I muttered an apology as she wriggled from my hands.
“You start the fire, Kazonvia, and I’ll get the dramdacan.”
“What?” But she was already sprinting away into the twilight gloom and disappearing into a mud-brick hut that looked much the same as the rest.
Muttering, I awkwardly lay before the dark embers—I couldn’t bend properly to blow on them, so I had to lie on my side—and, poking them with a charred stick, started blowing and stuffing twists of grass here and there amongst the quickening coals.
Savga returned, huffing, laden with a stack of dried fish.
“Come, you help me cut the dramdacan. We always cook dramdacan on hashing day. Really, I’m telling the truth. Come on.”
Whether she was telling the truth or whether I would be roasted alive for permitting this six-year-old spitfire to chop up the impoverished clan’s store of riverine fish changed nothing: It seemed I had no choice but to obey.
I clambered to my feet and staggered to where Savga knelt beside a pitted stone slab. She held a wicked curved blade topped by twin wooden knobs and was clumsily try ing to cut a dried fish into slices by rocking the blade atop it. The dried fish rattled and popped beneath the steel like grain burning in a pan.
“Do you know how to use that knife, Savga?” I asked wearily. “You’ll chop a finger off if you’re not— Look out! Just put that down, now!”
A moot command: She’d dropped the knife and was
But eventually, all motion and sound stops within an in volucre. A clawful of days after the last visible movement, the dragon has completed her death journey to the Celes tial Realm. Then, and only then, the cocoons may be dis posed of.
As a member of the arbiyesku, that was now my primary responsibility: disposing of dragon cocoons, each month and every month, without fail.
And that was what I’d witnessed on my first full day in Clutch Xxamer Zu.
I wove clumsy baskets. I dozed. I wove mats. I dozed. I tried not to think about how repulsive the work of my new clan was. The sun relinquished its searing hold over the grass lands and sank into the horizon in a blaze of red.
I was ferociously hungry, but was loath to rummage about the arbiyesku in search of a food cellar. I didn’t know my new clan’s customs and rules regarding cellars and the handling and distribution of food, and I certainly couldn’t afford to alienate them any further than what I’d inadver tently done already.
I sighed and stared off into the gloaming. And tensed. Running along one of the many grassy paths that radi ated from the arbiyesku compound was a child. I lumbered to my feet, ignoring the pain in my ribs. Slowly the figure resolved itself as Savga. She staggered to a panting, beam ing stop before me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked sharply.
She paced wobbly-legged about me, wheezing as she tried to catch her breath. “Did you . . . miss me?”
“Where’re the others? What’s happened?”
“They’re coming. Slow, slow, always so slow. One of the carts broke and I was tired of waiting.”
“Should I go help?”
“Funny Kazonvia, you can hardly walk! And they’re a long way away, closer to the brooder stables than here.”
“So you came back alone.”
She shrugged. “Mama can’t beat me till she gets here.”
I grimaced. Her folly would hardly endear me to Tansan.
“Let’s you and I start the evening meal, yes?” she said. “I’ll blow on the embers to wake the fire.” She darted to ward one of the cooking pits. With a curse, I limped in her direction.
She was already on her hands and knees and sputtering from the hot soot she’d blown into her face by the time I reached her.
“Not like that! Great Dragon, you’ll burn yourself!” I stiffly knelt beside her and wiped her face with the hem of my bitoo.
“Not so rough!” she wailed.
I muttered an apology as she wriggled from my hands.
“You start the fire, Kazonvia, and I’ll get the dramdacan.”
“What?” But she was already sprinting away into the twilight gloom and disappearing into a mud-brick hut that looked much the same as the rest.
Muttering, I awkwardly lay before the dark embers—I couldn’t bend properly to blow on them, so I had to lie on my side—and, poking them with a charred stick, started blowing and stuffing twists of grass here and there amongst the quickening coals.
Savga returned, huffing, laden with a stack of dried fish.
“Come, you help me cut the dramdacan. We always cook dramdacan on hashing day. Really, I’m telling the truth. Come on.”
Whether she was telling the truth or whether I would be roasted alive for permitting this six-year-old spitfire to chop up the impoverished clan’s store of riverine fish changed nothing: It seemed I had no choice but to obey.
I clambered to my feet and staggered to where Savga knelt beside a pitted stone slab. She held a wicked curved blade topped by twin wooden knobs and was clumsily try ing to cut a dried fish into slices by rocking the blade atop it. The dried fish rattled and popped beneath the steel like grain burning in a pan.
“Do you know how to use that knife, Savga?” I asked wearily. “You’ll chop a finger off if you’re not— Look out! Just put that down, now!”
A moot command: She’d dropped the knife and was
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