Read Online The Book of Water by Marjorie B. Kellogg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marjorie B. Kellogg
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snout.
—
Quickly!
—
Oh, Dragon, I can’t!
—
She says you must, or he will die
.
Erde forced herself the few steps to Water’s side and slid her dagger from its sheath. Alla’s dagger. The old woman’s parting gift. Lying on Erde’s palm, the fine tapered blade seemed to drink in the broken sunlight and return a steadier glow of its own. Water arched her neck to expose the most delicate underside. Clenching her jaw, Erde laid the razor edge against fine silver fur. The dragon drew away sharply, startling her. She shot a doubting glance back at Earth.
—
The point. You must use the dagger’s point
.
“Ohh,” replied Erde faintly. She could not imagine. Sir Hal would be better at this. He would know the appropriate ceremony. But at Earth’s insistent urging, she gathered herself again and set the dagger point-first. This time, when she applied a bit of pressure, Water did not recoil. Rather, she leaned into the blade, and Erde took a breath and drove it in, then jerked it right out again with a cry of remorse.
The blood did not spurt from the wound. It pooled at the opening, glistening, waiting. Water curled her slim head around to regard Erde expectantly. Erde stared, then quickly sheathed her blade and offered cupped and shaking hands to the wound. Like water from a mountain spring, the blood flowed neatly into her palms. It ceased flowing when the hand-made basin was full. Light-headed with wonder, Erde carried the precious liquid to the unconscious youth.
But he couldn’t have been entirely unconscious, for when she let a few red drops leak into his half-open mouth, he roused himself enough to drink in the entire handful, swallowing as greedily as if he sucked in life itself. The blood ran out of Erde’s hands as cleanly as water, leaving no stain behind. With the last drop, Endoch lay back again, smiling, and fell into a deep calm sleep.
Dragon’s blood.
Erde had always wondered how one acquired dragon’sblood to do magic with, without hurting the dragon. Oh, if only Hal were here to see this. She stared at her pristine hands, still cupped and shaking, then back at Water.
Earth was washing the sea dragon’s neck, gently closing the wound.
C HAPTER N INE
W hen he wakes up, N’Doch feels better than he has in a very long time. He knows right off that something amazing has happened.
He’s got no idea how long he’s been out. He’s lying on one of the exercise mats—he can tell from the unexpected comfort beneath him and the slightly musty smell. He inventories his body parts carefully. There is no pain anywhere, not even in his left arm, which he recalls was slashed wide open last time he checked.
Shouldn’t move, he decides, better not reveal his return to the living before he’s cased the situation. He listens to the ship, the way he’s learned to, for any noise he doesn’t recognize that might be the mob banging about inside, searching. He hears nothing, only the gulls outside and the slap of the sea against the hull, removed by the distance of six decks between. A cautiously raised eyelid reveals even less. At first he’s sure he’s gone blind. Then he realizes it’s night, and he’s facing a wall. He has to turn somehow, at least his head. He rolls it back soundlessly and sees, in the broad, bright squares of moonlight falling from the windows, the two cybercritters crouched head to head.
Not cybercritters, he reminds himself.
Dragons
.
He’s still having trouble taking that one in. But he’s decided it is the only explanation left, if you can call magic an explanation. He wonders what they’re up to out there in the middle of the basketball court, so still and silent but looking so at ease with each other. Having some sort of dragon confab, he’s pretty sure, whatever dragons confab about.
He twists his head a centimeter farther and, past them, he can make out a flat darkness in the opposite corner: the girl, asleep on another gym mat. N’Doch almost laughs out
—
Quickly!
—
Oh, Dragon, I can’t!
—
She says you must, or he will die
.
Erde forced herself the few steps to Water’s side and slid her dagger from its sheath. Alla’s dagger. The old woman’s parting gift. Lying on Erde’s palm, the fine tapered blade seemed to drink in the broken sunlight and return a steadier glow of its own. Water arched her neck to expose the most delicate underside. Clenching her jaw, Erde laid the razor edge against fine silver fur. The dragon drew away sharply, startling her. She shot a doubting glance back at Earth.
—
The point. You must use the dagger’s point
.
“Ohh,” replied Erde faintly. She could not imagine. Sir Hal would be better at this. He would know the appropriate ceremony. But at Earth’s insistent urging, she gathered herself again and set the dagger point-first. This time, when she applied a bit of pressure, Water did not recoil. Rather, she leaned into the blade, and Erde took a breath and drove it in, then jerked it right out again with a cry of remorse.
The blood did not spurt from the wound. It pooled at the opening, glistening, waiting. Water curled her slim head around to regard Erde expectantly. Erde stared, then quickly sheathed her blade and offered cupped and shaking hands to the wound. Like water from a mountain spring, the blood flowed neatly into her palms. It ceased flowing when the hand-made basin was full. Light-headed with wonder, Erde carried the precious liquid to the unconscious youth.
But he couldn’t have been entirely unconscious, for when she let a few red drops leak into his half-open mouth, he roused himself enough to drink in the entire handful, swallowing as greedily as if he sucked in life itself. The blood ran out of Erde’s hands as cleanly as water, leaving no stain behind. With the last drop, Endoch lay back again, smiling, and fell into a deep calm sleep.
Dragon’s blood.
Erde had always wondered how one acquired dragon’sblood to do magic with, without hurting the dragon. Oh, if only Hal were here to see this. She stared at her pristine hands, still cupped and shaking, then back at Water.
Earth was washing the sea dragon’s neck, gently closing the wound.
C HAPTER N INE
W hen he wakes up, N’Doch feels better than he has in a very long time. He knows right off that something amazing has happened.
He’s got no idea how long he’s been out. He’s lying on one of the exercise mats—he can tell from the unexpected comfort beneath him and the slightly musty smell. He inventories his body parts carefully. There is no pain anywhere, not even in his left arm, which he recalls was slashed wide open last time he checked.
Shouldn’t move, he decides, better not reveal his return to the living before he’s cased the situation. He listens to the ship, the way he’s learned to, for any noise he doesn’t recognize that might be the mob banging about inside, searching. He hears nothing, only the gulls outside and the slap of the sea against the hull, removed by the distance of six decks between. A cautiously raised eyelid reveals even less. At first he’s sure he’s gone blind. Then he realizes it’s night, and he’s facing a wall. He has to turn somehow, at least his head. He rolls it back soundlessly and sees, in the broad, bright squares of moonlight falling from the windows, the two cybercritters crouched head to head.
Not cybercritters, he reminds himself.
Dragons
.
He’s still having trouble taking that one in. But he’s decided it is the only explanation left, if you can call magic an explanation. He wonders what they’re up to out there in the middle of the basketball court, so still and silent but looking so at ease with each other. Having some sort of dragon confab, he’s pretty sure, whatever dragons confab about.
He twists his head a centimeter farther and, past them, he can make out a flat darkness in the opposite corner: the girl, asleep on another gym mat. N’Doch almost laughs out
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