Marie Brennan - Within the Sanctuary of Wings

Kahhe intervened before anyone could think too much about the merits of following through on the notion of my death. “Also, it was almost time for hibernation. We could not ask the revered elders to stay awake, and so nothing could happen before spring at the earliest anyway. We thought we could use the winter as a test—to see whether we could learn to speak with her, and how she would react to us.”

I thought of my screams and weeping. My first impression could not have been a good one. But no one here needed to hear of that, and so I offered up, “I helped with the yaks.”

The elder who had examined me laughed at that. Her reaction pleased me, for laughter is a great reducer of tension. A number of Draconeans glared at her, elders and villagers alike, but I had one person here besides the sisters who did not view me as an imminent threat.

I would need to convince a great many more, though, before we could make anything like progress. “If you please,” I said, “I would like to tell you about the places outside the Sanctuary. Whatever you decide to do, there are things you should know. But it will take me a long time to tell you, because my speech is not as good as I would like.” With a nod toward Ruzt, I said, “This honoured sister’s help would make it easier.”

That last was my own addition, and it made Ruzt start with surprise. She was not the only one conversant with the religious form of the language; most of the elders spoke it quite well. With that as a bridge, I could manage with them almost as well as I did with her. But she was the one who had started this all, persuading Kahhe and Zam to take the risk of contacting the human world. If it ended in disaster, she was already condemned, and I could do nothing to save her. I wanted to make certain, though, that if it ended in success, she received the credit she deserved. And for that to happen, she must remain a part of what followed.

As it turned out, however, my comment was based on a foolish optimism. The eldest Draconean said, “All three of them will be coming with us. They must face—”

Her last word was one I did not know, but I could fill in its meaning for myself: judgment .

I do not know whether it failed to occur to the council of elders that they should take steps to ensure word of my presence in the Sanctuary did not spread, or whether they gave it up as a lost cause from the start. If it was the former, they were foolish; if the latter, quite pragmatically wise.

To say that the entire Sanctuary knew before the day was out would be an exaggeration, but not much of one. I had not realized that mews, in addition to acting as aerial yak-dogs, could also be trained in the manner of carrier pigeons; they are not used for this during the winter, on account of the cold and the limited need for communication. But now the weather had warmed, and news of a human in Imsali quite literally flew from one settlement to another. In my ignorance of Draconean ways, I had argued for Ruzt’s continued presence without realizing the whole sister-group would be called to accompany us; but all three proved necessary, for my journey from Imsali to the place of the elders was anything but quiet.

The mountain basin was quite transformed from its appearance earlier that winter, when we chased the yaks of Imsali hither and yon and I trespassed in the temple. Although snow still lay deep in many places, particularly on northern slopes or where trees provided shade, the thaw had begun; the sound of snowmelt streams was as constant as the wind. Six months previously I would never have dreamt of calling the temperature balmy, but after what I had endured, I almost felt I could survive with only three layers on.

By far the greatest transformation, however, was one of movement. All winter long the Sanctuary had lain quiet, with only the occasional yak herd or accompanying caretaker with mews to disturb its stillness. Now there were Draconeans everywhere: chivvying their livestock along, travelling between villages, assessing the state of their fields and fences, chopping wood to make repairs. Their total numbers were not so large; even the most densely settled parts of the Sanctuary, west of Anshakkar, were still almost uninhabited compared to the Scirling countryside, which is much flatter and more arable. But after months of near-total solitude, I felt as if I were on the busiest street in Falchester—and all the more so because it seemed like every Draconean within five kilometers of our path diverted to see me with their own eyes.

Our party was not one that could pass in stealth. The nine elders made quite a crowd on their own; and of course they could not be expected to travel in rough fashion, given their advanced age and great status. Compared with an Anthiopean potentate, their entourages were not worth the name; but each had at least one attendant, in many cases two, whose duty was to ease their way. To this we added myself, Ruzt, Kahhe, Zam, and a sister-group of four from Imsali who had volunteered to come as supplemental guards. The dominant one among them, a tall Draconean named Esdarr, made no secret of the fact that they did not trust me in the slightest: along the way I learned that they were the ones who ought to have had winter duty that year, and their relief at being spared the task had soured greatly when they discovered the reason.

Altogether it made for a cavalcade of thirty—a draconicade, one might more accurately call it, except that is not a proper word. (The Draconeans made no use of ponies, and for good reason. The poor equines come near to dying of fright at the sight or scent of a Draconean.) I travelled in the center of it, insulated from the gawping locals by the ring of the elders and their attendants, and insulated from the elders by the Draconeans of Imsali.

None of this arrangement did any good when we passed through a narrow defile scarcely ten meters wide.

I had, on that journey, attempted to rein in my natural curiosity, lest it look like spying. Although I longed to see as much as I could of the Sanctuary—male Draconeans most particularly, as I had been too distracted during the revelation in Imsali to look for them—I kept my eyes fixed on the path ahead of me, gazing no farther than the limits of our group. But when a scrabbling sound came from overhead, I could not stop myself from looking up. I have too often been in wilderness where that sound might herald a predator or a dangerous rockfall to let it pass without suspicion.

Even as I looked up, wings blotted out the sun.

They descended upon us with bone-chilling battle cries, leaping from concealment down into our midst. I ducked—the instinctive reaction of a creature faced with an airborne threat—and claws swiped above, close enough to tear my hat from my head. For an instant I was nineteen again and on my way to Drustanev, having my first encounter with a wild dragon.

Then the present day reasserted itself. My attacker was no rock-wyrm; it was a Draconean, one of several who had launched themselves into our midst. The other sister-group from Imsali had come to protect people against me, and so they were slow to react to this new threat. But Ruzt, Kahhe, and Zam did not hesitate: they instantly formed up around me, correctly guessing that I was the target of this assault.

I could do no more than crouch in their midst, trying to watch in every direction at once lest an enemy slip through. The attackers wielded curved knives whose blades flashed viciously in the sun. Beyond the mêlée I could hear the elders calling for a halt, but no one was paying them any heed. A scream cut through the snarls: someone fell, and in the chaos I could not see whether it was a friend or a foe. Then the flow shifted, surging away from me, and a Draconean leapt into the air, rowing hard with her wings in an attempt to gain enough altitude to escape our crowd. But someone else leapt after—Zam—and dragged the fleeing one down to earth once more.