Read Online The Book of Water by Marjorie B. Kellogg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marjorie B. Kellogg
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he’s resisting so hard. Her voice is so soothing, her warm breath on his cheek so familiar, his mama’s of course, why didn’t he see that? She’ll take him into her arms and make his hurt go away. His grip on consciousness is tenuous. N’Doch forgets why he’s holding on at all, and lets go.
C HAPTER E IGHT
H is fever had risen so suddenly, she hadn’t seen it for what it was. He’d seemed so hale while leading them to safety, as if his wound didn’t bother him at all.
Cautiously, Erde joined Water at the dark boy’s side. She shouldn’t think of him as a boy, he was clearly several years older than she was. But on his back and so feverish, he looked young and vulnerable. She wondered suddenly if his fever was contagious. The only sickness she knew that rose so fast was the plague. Chilled, she retreated a few steps. She saw no rashes or boils, the outward signs of plague, but she did not want to have come all this way simply to be felled by disease.
Earth lumbered up beside her. She wrapped a hand around his nearest horn for comfort as he lowered his big head thoughtfully over the stricken youth. Then she recalled how the dragon had healed the old man in the barn at Erfurt. He’d been beaten senseless and was bleeding to death from a sword cut to his side, but when Earth was through with him, he got up and walked away. And the she-goat. Earth had healed her, too, by washing her awful wounds with his big cowlike tongue.
Erde wasn’t sure she should remind Earth of the she-goat, whom he’d been later forced to devour to keep himself from starving. The noble goat, of course, had given her permission. Instead, Erde imaged the old man, though he’d proved far less noble, an ungrateful coward who’d revealed their hiding place to Brother Guillemo himself.
—
Dragon! Do you remember? Can you help this one too?
There was doubt and diffidence in the dragon’s reply.
—
The wound I can close and make well, but he already burns from within
. . . .
—
The fever? You can’t heal the fever?
An immense sigh, like the ground shifting, then sadness, failure, a sense of inadequacy.
Water raised her head from her scrutiny of Endoch’s condition. She fixed Erde with her demanding stare, and an image formed in Erde’s head, which she saw exactly mirrored in the broad expanse of Earth’s mind. She knew immediately that the thought came from the she-dragon. The quality of the communication differed so from Earth’s blunt, honest imaging. It slid into her consciousness—not surprisingly—like water, rushing here, a trickle there, not to be denied. Insistently flowing into cracks, following the contours of her thoughts, shimmering like the ruffled surface of a lake. At times two images, or three or several, layered one over another, adding depth and richness.
Erde was delighted. With Earth as a conduit, she could speak with Water almost directly, if she could but learn to read her imaging coherently. Right now, the layering and shimmering obscured the meaning of the image. There seemed to be several narratives playing at once: one of Earth washing the dark youth’s wound, one of the four of them huddling together in an earnest, conversing fashion. But surely Water did not intend the topmost layer the way it seemed, for it showed Erde with her dagger in hand, stabbing into the soft fur of the sea dragon’s neck, then catching the flowing blood in cupped palms.
—
Dragon! What is she saying?
Earth’s horror was as profound as her own. But after consultation with the sea dragon, it faded to wonder and admiration.
—
Her blood will heal the fire inside. You must give it to him
.
—
I? Me?
Vigorous assent.
She has shown you how. Quickly, she says. You must do it now!
Dragon’s blood. The most magical substance of all, according to the lore.
Erde gripped her dagger dutifully but was stopped by thesinuous beauty of Water’s beckoning head and neck. Earth shoved at her with his
C HAPTER E IGHT
H is fever had risen so suddenly, she hadn’t seen it for what it was. He’d seemed so hale while leading them to safety, as if his wound didn’t bother him at all.
Cautiously, Erde joined Water at the dark boy’s side. She shouldn’t think of him as a boy, he was clearly several years older than she was. But on his back and so feverish, he looked young and vulnerable. She wondered suddenly if his fever was contagious. The only sickness she knew that rose so fast was the plague. Chilled, she retreated a few steps. She saw no rashes or boils, the outward signs of plague, but she did not want to have come all this way simply to be felled by disease.
Earth lumbered up beside her. She wrapped a hand around his nearest horn for comfort as he lowered his big head thoughtfully over the stricken youth. Then she recalled how the dragon had healed the old man in the barn at Erfurt. He’d been beaten senseless and was bleeding to death from a sword cut to his side, but when Earth was through with him, he got up and walked away. And the she-goat. Earth had healed her, too, by washing her awful wounds with his big cowlike tongue.
Erde wasn’t sure she should remind Earth of the she-goat, whom he’d been later forced to devour to keep himself from starving. The noble goat, of course, had given her permission. Instead, Erde imaged the old man, though he’d proved far less noble, an ungrateful coward who’d revealed their hiding place to Brother Guillemo himself.
—
Dragon! Do you remember? Can you help this one too?
There was doubt and diffidence in the dragon’s reply.
—
The wound I can close and make well, but he already burns from within
. . . .
—
The fever? You can’t heal the fever?
An immense sigh, like the ground shifting, then sadness, failure, a sense of inadequacy.
Water raised her head from her scrutiny of Endoch’s condition. She fixed Erde with her demanding stare, and an image formed in Erde’s head, which she saw exactly mirrored in the broad expanse of Earth’s mind. She knew immediately that the thought came from the she-dragon. The quality of the communication differed so from Earth’s blunt, honest imaging. It slid into her consciousness—not surprisingly—like water, rushing here, a trickle there, not to be denied. Insistently flowing into cracks, following the contours of her thoughts, shimmering like the ruffled surface of a lake. At times two images, or three or several, layered one over another, adding depth and richness.
Erde was delighted. With Earth as a conduit, she could speak with Water almost directly, if she could but learn to read her imaging coherently. Right now, the layering and shimmering obscured the meaning of the image. There seemed to be several narratives playing at once: one of Earth washing the dark youth’s wound, one of the four of them huddling together in an earnest, conversing fashion. But surely Water did not intend the topmost layer the way it seemed, for it showed Erde with her dagger in hand, stabbing into the soft fur of the sea dragon’s neck, then catching the flowing blood in cupped palms.
—
Dragon! What is she saying?
Earth’s horror was as profound as her own. But after consultation with the sea dragon, it faded to wonder and admiration.
—
Her blood will heal the fire inside. You must give it to him
.
—
I? Me?
Vigorous assent.
She has shown you how. Quickly, she says. You must do it now!
Dragon’s blood. The most magical substance of all, according to the lore.
Erde gripped her dagger dutifully but was stopped by thesinuous beauty of Water’s beckoning head and neck. Earth shoved at her with his
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