Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

Geim saw a giant river mong glide past the raft, its dorsal fin knifing the surface. One of the boys lifted his pole out of the way so as not to lose it. The raft rocked in the creature's wake. Geim recalled childhood encounters with the monsters and realized the memories had not become exaggerated over time.

Excitement over, the boys returned to poling, Geim to his contemplation of the Sha, and Deena and Toren to their language lessons. She pointed to a heron as it flew past, called its name, and Toren repeated it. During the past few weeks his vocabulary and understanding of her tongue had grown far beyond the little Geim had mastered. It was ironic. Now any two of them could talk with each other, but only by leaving the third party out of the conversation.

Mostly, it had been Geim who had been excluded. Toren and Deena had developed a camaraderie of which he had no part. It was a modest, shy sort of thing. He was not sure they were aware of it yet.

As the morning wore on, he began to recognize the curves of the river. Shortly before noon they came within sight of a huge village: Port Ogshi, the capital of the nation, his birthplace.

The boys immediately began navigating toward one of the wharfs. Geim's heart rate began to speed up.

"Picking up cargo?" he asked, deliberately keeping his tone conversational.

"Yes," the youngster replied, his foot on one of the few baskets of goods that they had loaded upriver. The raft could hold ten times the weight they now carried. "Our brother is waiting for us here." He spoke proudly, obviously still young enough that it made him feel important that he and his junior sibling had been allowed to pilot the raft all by themselves.

"Going to stay long?"

"Long enough to take on our cargo," the boy said as if Geim were a fool.

"Of course," Geim said, and maintained a stony silence as the juveniles tied up, ran up the bank, and disappeared down the broad avenue between a pair of large bamboo and wicker warehouses. Nearby other traders were arriving or leaving. A fishmonger was hawking his wares at the end of the pier.

"Should we wait with the raft?" Deena asked.

"Yes," Geim said, rather quickly. "We don't want to disembark here."

As he thought further, he had her sit down behind the small pile of goods already aboard, to draw less attention to her complexion and hair color. He himself kept his face toward the river as much as possible, turning only when he heard the boys' footsteps rattling along the bamboo of the wharf. A man Geim's own age walked beside them, regaling them with descriptions of the excellent haggling he had done while they had been gone.

"So these are the passengers-" the man began, stepping onto the raft and stopping two paces in front of Geim.

The man's jaw dropped.

Every bit of moisture left Geim's mouth. "My friends and I would like to thank you for the transportation," he said hoarsely.

"Is it truly you?" the man asked.

Geim chuckled nervously. "I'm afraid so."

"My great grandfather's ass!" The man pointed to the far end of the raft. "Stay out of view. I'll get us loaded as fast as I can." He jerked a thumb at his shocked little brothers. "Let's move!"

The boys jumped. The three siblings took the raft to the next pier and began shuttling a stack of merchandise aboard, assisted by Toren. The boys struggled with baskets and chests that would ordinarily be handled by a pair of the porters who could be found lolling on the banks or helping other merchants. The fewer of the village adults who got a look at Geim the better, however. The process took almost an hour, an excruciatingly long wait.

"I appreciate this, Feirl," Geim told the raft owner as soon as they were under way.

"What in your mother's name brought you back here?" Feirl demanded.

"I would have avoided it if it had been practical," Geim said. "I take it that things haven't changed."

"Ophob is still the chief, if that's what you mean. And he'd still have your balls if he saw you."

Geim laughed. "Of that I'm certain," he said emphatically. "And Ysmet?"

"She'd have more than that," Feirl said ominously. "She brought one of the worst bride prices a high chief's eldest daughter ever had to settle for. She's married to Derest, the warehouse owner."

"Ah," Geim murmured wistfully. "Is she unhappy, then?"

"Content enough, I think. A boatload of brats. But I guarantee you she's never forgotten how much better she might have done."

At the mention of children Geim's eyes brightened. "The baby?"

"A girl. Pretty and bright. You'd have been proud of her." Feirl gave the pole a listless shove. "Died at three of the pox."

Something stung Geim down in the gut. On the shore a pack of toddlers bolted from a children's house, engaged in an excited follow-the-leader race while several mothers supervised. He sighed.

Suddenly self-conscious, he turned. Toren shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Geim felt his face flush, grateful that Deena could not understand the words. "Fifteen years ago I was fool enough to get the chief's daughter pregnant," he said. Toren had the tact to merely shrug. Geim turned back and watched the village slide from view.

Geim's mood remained black as the raft wended its way through one tributary after another, past islands, more villages, and foul-smelling backwaters. Finally they emerged into the main course of the Sha. Many of the craft they passed carried Ijitians as often as Vanihr. Geim caught Toren staring at their pale complexions.

The southerner was rubbing his upper lip and frowning. Geim followed his line of sight, and saw that the tiller man of the nearest boat had a mustache. "Like Ivayer," Toren said presently.

"Get used to it," Geim said. "On the northern continent all men have hairy faces. It's only here in Ijitia and its former empire that they shave. In imitation of our race, I suppose." He did not bother warning Toren that there would be those who would consider him effeminate for being unable to grow a beard. The southerner would encounter that sort of thing soon enough.

The river traffic thickened. A canoe nearly collided with them. One of Feirl's brothers rapped it with his pole, nearly provoking a fight. In another half hour the first buildings rose above the treeline.

Geim recalled the thrill he'd experienced the first time he saw Talitha. The city sprawled across the outermost large island of the delta, its southern edge devoted to the docks and markets where the Vanihr traded. The city itself belonged to the Ijitians. The people of the Wood, distrusting of large scale communities that reminded them of the Shagas, left the rule to others by preference, though their merchant's guild wielded considerable influence. The Ijitians, in deference to their neighbors, used chiefly wood and mud for building materials, avoiding the stone and crystal favored by the serpent men. To the young Geim it had been awe-inspiring. To his jaded older eyes, Talitha seemed shabby, small, and odoriferous, nothing compared to the principalities of the Calinin Empire.

The raft bumped the pier. Feirl and his brothers tied it fast. The water clopped and sprayed between the craft and the pylon, salty from the rising tide. Geim handed each of the boys a market token, the closest thing to money that Vanihr used. At Feirl's suggestion they rushed off to bargain for something of their fancy in the marketplace.

Geim handed the elder brother the rest of the payment and clasped his hand. "It's been good seeing you again."

"The same," Feirl replied. "I'm glad that life in the north has not ruined you yet." He stole a furtive glance at Deena and Toren. "Though it brings you to journey with odd companions. He's a southerner, true?"

Geim nodded. "A Fhali."