Paul Cook: Children of the Plains

“No.”

He was taken aback. “No?”

“I’ve stayed too long as it is. It’s time for Karada’s band to depart.”

So saying, she stepped over the broken length of wall and strode quickly away. Amero opened his mouth to call to her, but she was out of sight before he thought what to say.

There was a rush of wind, and Duranix alighted on a patch of nearby open ground. He shook his head from side to side, sending a tinkling cascade of ice crystals to the ground. He flapped his wings before furling them, shedding more ice and snow in the process.

“I hate winter,” he declared, “but I love it that I can fly again.”

Amero said nothing. He was still looking off toward where Nianki had vanished.

Duranix used his foreclaws to preen slush and water from his horns and face. “Why so morose, Amero?” he said. “You’re walking, aren’t you? Or have your legs failed you? Is that why you’re sitting out here in the cold by yourself?”

Amero stood — a bit wobbly, but upright — and said, “Nianki won’t stay. I asked her to train the villagers to fight, but she won’t do it. In fact, I think she may be leaving today!”

Duranix leaned down to his far smaller friend. The brazen nail of one clawed digit tapped the crown of Amero’s head.

“Is there anything in there but bone?” he asked. Angrily, Amero brushed the claw away. Duranix added, “You astonish me, human. You asked her to do the one thing she can’t do and still respect herself. Don’t you realize that?”

“Well, no. I thought she was over the effect of the amulet.”

Duranix rolled his huge eyes. He forced himself to adopt a patient tone. “I don’t know if she’ll ever be ‘over it.’ Someone else will have to come along and win her heart.” He drew himself upright. “Not an easy prize.”

Together they walked to the enlarged altar. The villagers, with the help of Nianki’s band, had nearly tripled its size. Where once it had been a rectangular pile, it was now square, and over twenty paces to a side. When the rocks had kept tumbling down the sides, someone had thought to use the gray mud from the lake bed to hold the rocks in place. Soon the all the outer layer of rocks were stuck together with mud, which coupled with the yellowish sandstone, lent the altar a distinctly speckled appearance.

Konza and his eldest son, Tiphan, hailed Amero and the dragon as they neared the altar. They were an odd-looking pair. Tiphan had fashioned coats for his father and himself from cast-off bronze dragon scales. He had punched holes in the upper edge of the scales and, using hide strips, attached them in overlapping layers to two long cloaks. Though their demeanors were grave, both men clanked as they walked, and Duranix found the effect comical.

“They look like a pair of beetles,” Duranix observed in a low voice. Amero had to stifle a laugh; the description was apt.

“You’re walking again, Arkuden? That’s excellent,” Konza said. Tiphan, only sixteen, stood to one side looking grave. It was an expression difficult to maintain since Duranix kept exhaling gently on him, just to make his coat of scales clatter in the resulting breeze.

“Thank you, Konza,” Amero said, studiously ignoring the dragon’s actions. “I want to get back to work as soon as possible. I have many plans to discuss with you and the other elders — ”

“There are no other elders,” Tiphan said.

“What?”

“What my son means is, while you were ill, the surviving fathers and mothers of the village met and chose me to be their representative to you and our great protector.” Konza smiled widely. “We all felt the old way of council meetings and arguments was too slow and awkward to deal with the dangers of this new life of ours. From now on, you can tell me what you want done, and I will tell the villagers.”

Amero was astonished. “Tell you? But I don’t want to — ”

Duranix unfolded one wing just enough so that it came between Amero and Konza. “Arkuden shouldn’t be out in this weather,” Duranix announced grandly. “He’s still recovering. He’ll return shortly.”

Amero couldn’t reply with a mass of wing pressed against his face, but before he could free himself, Duranix whisked him into one claw and spread his wings to their fullest extent.

Without further warning, the dragon launched himself into the air, leaving Konza and Tiphan staring upward in awe and not a little confusion.

When they were aloft and heading for the cavern, Amero demanded, “What was that? And since when do you call me Arkuden?’”

Duranix ducked through the waterfall and landed on the cave floor. He used his wings skillfully to shield Amero, so not a drop got on him. The dragon threw several logs on the hearth and fanned the faint coals with his breath. Watching Duranix’s cheeks bulge as he blew stirred an idea in Amero’s agile mind — but he shook his head to clear his thoughts and returned to the issue at hand.

“What do they mean, I’ll tell them what to do? I wouldn’t feel right telling people twice my age what to do.”

“You’re so conservative,” chided Duranix, basking in the warmth of the blazing fire. “When this settlement began, you were just thirteen years old. None of the elders wanted to listen to you then, but they did, mostly because they feared me. Now you’re twenty-four. Many of the fathers and mothers who originally followed you here from the plains are gone. The younger ones have only known Yala-tene and you, and now they want you to lead them.” Duranix brought his tail around closer to the fire to warm it. “I think you should.”

“How can I? What if I make mistakes? People’s lives are at stake!”

“When Hatu came back to destroy the village, you fought back, even killed people. Why?”

“To save those I care about,” he replied.

“So!”

The fire crackled loudly. The hot yellow flames highlighted Amero’s drawn face, making the lines of worry etched in his countenance seem even deeper. The silence between them stretched on. Amero kicked at some pebbles.

“I guess I can try it Konza’s way. I’ll work hard, and find others to guide and counsel me,” he said finally.

“Your dedication is almost dragonlike,” Duranix replied.

Amero sat down on the hard stone floor and stretched out his tired legs. Despite the burden being placed on his shoulders, and the imminent departure of his sister, he couldn’t stop smiling. He knew the dragon had just paid him the ultimate compliment.

It took two days for Nianki’s band to pack their gear. Every inhabitant of Yala-tene insisted on providing the nomads with enough provisions to get them to the northern plains, where there would still be abundant game to hunt. In addition to their remaining fifty-three horses, Nianki’s band was given six tamed wolves, ten oxen, and nineteen goats. The oxen were harnessed to five large travois laden with dried fruit, vegetables, and clay jugs of Hulami’s best wine.

More surprising was the fact that ten villagers chose to go with Nianki. They were all young men and women whose families had perished in the battle. Starting anew in the valley of the falls was too painful for them, and they had asked to be taken into Karada’s band.

“You are welcome,” she told them, “though we have no horses for you.”

Young Valka, grandson of Amero’s old friend of the same name, said, “It’s as well. We don’t know how to ride your animals.” He grinned and added, “Yet!”

It was on a clear, cold day that Nianki formed her people at the foot of Amero’s bridge. The snow of two days past was only a light dusting, a harbinger of heavier falls to come. The trees and houses were covered with silver frost, and a blanket of mist rose from the lake.