The more she'd listened, the more she got confused, yet at the same time the more the dragon's story seemed plausible. Perhaps it was the beast's sultry voice, or her own hunger-caused dizziness that made the words credible. Maybe it was her desire to actually have "magic."
"I remember seeing through time and distance when your father found his magic and journeyed to Fafnir's lands. Fafnirwas a powerful dragon, Shilo, and should have used that power for good. Instead he coveted treasure and embraced vile emotions. I remember watching him slain and feeling sadness not because I cared for him, but because there was one less dragon in the world."
Shilo's thoughts had drifted during part of the dragon's story. She wondered if Meemaw and Grandfather were worried about her, or if they even knew she was gone. Did time pass in the present while she was here in the past? But this wasn't the past now, was it? This was her present. She rubbed at her temples. So terribly confused, she thought.
"It is our magic together that lets us communicate, such different creatures. You hear my thoughts and 1 understand your tongue."
Shilo finally had a question. "Then why couldn't I understand the people in Babylon?" Well, she could understand one of them, the rich man with all the valuable rings. She would have to ask Ulbanu about him.
"Magic is a new concept for you, child. You can understand those in Babylon . . . you can come to understand anyone . . . if you wholly master the magic inside of you."
"And I suppose you will teach me."
"Yes."
For some reason, Shilo expected that answer.
"But only a little now, only enough so you can move among the people of Babylon. I can teach you more later, after you have fulfilled—"
"—my purpose in coming here," Shilo finished.
"Yes."
"To save dragonkind and perhaps mankind."
"Yes."
Shilo listened to the dragon talk some more, about magic deep in the earth, and about Babylon, about dragons hiding from men and keeping to remote places so they would not be hunted. She remembered it all clearly in her dream, and she wondered that if the dragon could look through time and across distances, could she, too? If so, could she look forward and to the far, far north and see her father and his dragon Fafnir? She told herself to ask Ulbanu that when she woke up.
But when she did wake, she'd forgotten that thought. Chief in her mind was food and clean clothes. She desperately had to get something to eat and to drink.
"Or I will be of no use to you or myself," she told Ulbanu.
“I understand." The dragon retreated into the recesses of its cave, returning with a thick bolt of beautiful cloth held gingerly in its teeth. It placed the bolt in front of Shilo, and she noted that though the cloth was not damaged, it was sodden from the dragon's saliva. ''The people of this world trade, Shilo, and the ones in the village beyond these hills would welcome such as this."
"I've got rings and earrings. I can use that to trade. 1 can do this on my own."
"Jewelry has little value to those people."
"Fine, I'll take your fabric."
Shilo wanted to ask Ulbanu how it came to possess cloth. But then she figured all dragons had some sort of hoard; legends and stories said so anyway.
"Return soon, Shilo. Time grows short, and your task is terribly important. You have much work to do."
Shilo grabbed up the cloth, struggling under its weight. Without another word, she slipped from the cave and started down the hill.
Maybe I'll come back, Shilo thought. // 7 can convince myself that a fifteen-year-old can save dragonkind and perhaps mankind because there's some magic buried inside her. If I believe only I can accomplish the "most important thing in the world." Maybe I'll . . .
She froze on the hillside, looking down to the village that rested at the base of the range. It was early morning, and from her high vantage she got a good look at the land that would become Iraq. In her time it would never be this verdant. She saw crops in the distance, where she and Nidintulugal had fled through to avoid the guards and reach the river, and she saw the thriving fields of the village below her. The villagers must use wells, as she couldn't see even a stream running near the place.
Shilo was too far away to hear the sounds she expected filled the village—the chatter of the residents, the bleat of the animals, and hopefully music. But she heard the breeze stirring the dirt held in pockets in the hills, and the breathing of the dragon in the cave behind her.
Her feet were still sore, though not so fiercely as they were yesterday. And the pain in her side from running had disappeared. She picked her way down the hill, careful not to drop the heavy bolt of material. Maybe someone in the village would have some medicine she could put on her feet . . . and certainly lots of food to put in her belly. Appropriately, her stomach rumbled its hunger.
Maybe she'd see Nidintulugal and would be able to ... Shilo stopped and swallowed hard as four soldiers appeared on a trail leading to the village, and within moments walked through the crops and disappeared between a pair of buildings.
13 Broken Barriers
SHILO PERCHED IN THE HILLS, FOR WHAT SHE GUESSED WAS well more than a few hours. Why hadn't she put on her watch that day she played with the puzzle? She'd put on all these rings and earrings, and the gold bracelet that she'd used to pay for this practically threadbare robe. Why hadn't she bothered to wear the watch?
She had no shade, save the little piece she found behind the rocky outcropping she hid behind. Her stomach continued to rumble and her throat demanded water, and she worried that she'd pass out here, halfway between the dragon and the village, and die without ever regaining her home.
Did the village know about the dragon?
Somehow she doubted it. Otherwise there d be a trail to the cave, with villagers bringing up tribute. Too, no one with any sense would build a village near a dragon.
Unless the dragon protected the village. But wouldn't the beast have told her that?
The sun was almost directly overhead when she saw the four guards leave. They were talking among themselves. She could tell that by the way they occasionally turned to face each other. Two made their way down the road from the village, then to the main road that would eventually lead to Babylon. Shilo couldn't see the great city from here; it was too far away. The other two followed the road to the north. She waited quite some more time before creeping down the hill and hiding in the fields that grew on the north end of the village.
She was tempted to pluck some of the vegetables, all of which were unfamiliar to her, and eat her fill before taking the bolt of cloth inside. In fact, she could sate her appetite, find a well, and make it back to the dragon's cave, perhaps without any villagers seeing her.
But Shilo wanted a change of clothes and a bath, if possible, then food—definitely food. She made sure her hood was up so no one would see her short red hair. She struggled with the fabric as she took a back way into the village. Almost immediately she was spotted and became the center of attention. Noticed first by a boy leading a sheep, he called to his friends, who called to adults. Within minutes, she suspected everyone who lived in the village was in the circle around her.
They all looked similar to the people she saw in Babylon— the men wearing skirts to their knees or lower and sandals with laces, the women wearing robes that left one shoulder and arm bare and wrapping their long hair around their heads. The fabrics were plain, and only a few had braid around the hems. There was little jewelry save for wooden hoop earrings and bracelets.
They ogled her for a few moments, and pointed. And then they began talking in a language she couldn't understand.
"Wonderful." Shilo sat the cloth on the ground, glad to be free of its weight. It was no longer wet from the dragon's saliva, the sun and time having dried it, and the metallic threads amid the red and blue swirls gleamed.
Everything was loud—so many of the villagers talking at once, to her and to each other. It was louder than the insects had been two nigh
ts past, and certainly more annoying. She looked for Nidintulugal, but in the press of bodies, she couldn't see him. Had the guards taken him? Had she not noticed them leading the priest away? He'd been seen with her, and so certainly he could be a target. The villagers' voices continued to swirl, and she clasped her hands to her ears in an effort to blot it all out.
"Stop!" Shilo hollered when a burly man stepped toward the fabric.
He stood board straight, surprised at her outburst, and everyone in the village quieted.
"Wonderful," Shilo muttered again.
She could hear sheep bleating and the wind teasing the crops. Nearby, clothes that had been hung out to dry flapped like awkward birds. She could hear her heart beating, too, nervous. That was one thing she'd almost always been since arriving here—nervous.
This was a bad idea, she thought. Should've just taken some of their vegetables and been done with it.
They continued to watch her, not one of them saying anything.
Oh, why, why can't I understand them? Why can't I make them understand me? She rubbed her palms on her robe, a gesture she'd adopted recently when she didn't know what to say or do.
"Listen, I'm hungry and I need some clothes. And I've brought this to trade." She pointed to the fabric, then fingered her robe. "I want to trade. I want . . ."
"Trade, yes. Trade for that very fine cloth you have brought to Ibinghal." She understood every word the burly man said. "Trade with you for robes."
"And food." She shivered that she could understand him— and that he could understand her. How? How could she do this now? And not in Babylon? Oh, why, why can't I understand them? Why can't I make them understand me? Had those words—that strong desire—triggered the magic the dragon claimed was inside of her?
"Food, yes," the man said, nodding vigorously. He tentatively reached for the bolt of cloth, and this time Shilo didn't stop him.
"Who is she?" a tall girl asked her mother. The girl was reed-thin and had a heart-shaped face filled with curiosity. "The skin of her hands is the color of clouds."
"Is this the one the guards sought?" Shilo couldn't see who said this.
"Her voice is music," another said. "Beautiful are her words."
"She hides her face in the heat, why?"
"Where did she come by such marvelous cloth? It is the cloth of kings!"
"Did she steal it?"
"Is she a queen?"
"Did she bring it from Babylon?"
"Did she steal it from the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar?"
"Too heavy for her to carry far. See how Draduk wheezes under it?"
"How long will she stay? Who will take her in?"
"Why would you trade such beautiful cloth? Why would you not keep it?"
"Mother, she looks young."
"What does she want to eat?"
"Anything," Shilo quickly answered that question. "I am very, very hungry."
"She likes gandos." This came from Nidintulugal. He made his way through the throng, holding out a piece of the fruit like the ones he'd traded for in Babylon. "How is it, Shilo, that you can speak our language now?" He tossed her the fruit, then crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearly a perturbed expression on his face.
"It is a long story," she told him. Then she peeled and devoured the fruit, speaking between bites. "And one you probably would not believe."
"I have a need to hear a long tale," he returned. "And I will decide what I believe."
Shilo let Nidintulugal escort her into the largest building in the center of the settlement. It was roughly round, and the few roads radiated outward from it like spokes on a wheel. A place of fellowship, it had a few long tables and low benches, a pit in the center for cooking, and something that looked like a stage. The windows were narrow and high along the walls, like in many of the buildings she'd noted in Babylon. The interior smelled of smoke and cooking spices, and it made Shilo even hungrier.
A woman wearing a dark green robe, the only one of such a color Shilo had seen so far in the village, passed her a small jug of water. Shilo drained it, and her stomach ached because she'd drunk it so quickly.
"Thank you."
The woman nodded and retreated to the fire pit, where another woman was setting coals on a fire and a third was dumping something into a pot.
Nidintulugal pointed to one of the tables, and she sat at the bench across from him.
"Thank you, Nidin, for helping me flee from the city." Finally she could thank him so that he would understand.
Still, he retained the perturbed look.
"Guards came here looking for you, Shilo. They told everyone in Ibinghal—"
"The name of this village," she interrupted.
"—that you'd stolen something valuable from the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar."
"The rich man in the courtyard?"
A nod.
"I didn't, I—"
"I explained that to everyone after the guards left. Because I'm a priest of Shamash, they believe me. I—unlike city guards—would never lie." He watched the three women at the fire pit. "Though some whisper that you stole the cloth from the Hand."
"I didn't, Nidin, I—"
"Draduk—"
"The big man who took the cloth away—"
"Proved you could not have stolen the cloth from the Hand of Nebuchadnezzar. You could not have carried that out of the city without the guards catching you. Nor could you have managed to get it this far on your own."
"I wasn't on my own, Nidin. I was with you most of the time, and—"
"I told them, Shilo. Because I'm a priest of Shamash, they believe me. I told them everything, and that I believe the Hand wanted you because you are young and from a faraway place." He stretched across the table and brushed her hood back, and the people gathered in the building gasped. "I told them about your hair of fire and your speckled face."
She tried to ignore the stares, focusing on the women at the fire pit. One was putting vegetables into the pot, another, pieces of meat. She might have been a little particular about what she ate back in Marietta and Slade's Corners, but here she didn't care what the meat was; she was that hungry. The stew added to the scents of this place, so good it made her nearly swoon.
"The guards would have taken you, had you been here, Shilo."
She decided not to tell him that she'd seen the guards from her perch on the hill.
"Why didn't they take you, Nidin?"
"I am a priest of Shamash."
So that pretty much answered everything, huh? she thought. Perhaps priests in this society were immune to government dictates.
"They asked you about me?"
Another nod.
"And what did you tell them?"
"The truth. That I helped you flee the city and that we escaped by hiding in the river, and that we headed toward this village, but that you went away on your own. I did not see where you went."
"And they believed you?"
"Of course. I am—"
"—a priest of Shamash. I know."
"In truth I did not see where you went. And if I'd asked you where you were going, you would have spoken gibberish. Most peculiar that I can understand you now."
"Good thing for me, huh? That you couldn't talk to me then?" Shilo decided not to ask him if he would have given her away. She didn't think she'd like the answer to that. She was spared more conversation when the woman in the green robe brought her a steaming bowl filled with the stew. There was no spoon, but the woman passed her a large piece of hard bread, which Shilo used to sop up the liquid and shovel in the pieces of meat and vegetables when she tipped the bowl.
Nidintulugal left her for a few minutes, getting himself a bowl of the stew and talking to the women at the fire pit. He returned with a stoppered gourd.
"Goat's milk." He sat across from her and ate his stew, occasionally answering villagers' questions about his time with Shilo. "Because the cloth you brought here is so fine, they served you meat. It is used sparingly otherwise in this vil
lage." Then he gestured to an older man who wore a thin skirt and a cloak, the only one in the village wearing a cloak that Shilo noticed.
"They will wonder about your sandals," Nidintulugal told her. "But if you take them off, Hre-Threndal will help you."
Shilo finished the stew and set the bowl next to her, held what was left of the bread in her mouth and turned on the bench so that her back was to the table. She raised the hem of her robe, half expecting to hear the gasps that filled the building, and unlaced her tennis shoes. She tugged them off and sat them together on the ground under the bench. She watched the people staring at them, and wondered what they would think of her shorts and tank top. A small smile played across her face.
"Sorely injured," the old man pronounced when he lifted Shilo's feet. "Cruel sandals?"
Shilo frowned. "I hurt them when I was barefoot."
He nodded in understanding and reached into a pouch, pulling out a small jar and smearing the ointment in it on the bottoms of her feet. Rising, he grabbed her ankles and turned her, so her legs were on the bench.
"Stay off your feet for a while." Then he reached under the bench and retrieved her shoes, feeling the nylon sides and inadvertently smearing some of the ointment on them. He tapped the bottoms and sniffed them, then held them up so everyone could see.
"Enough, Hre-Threndal," Nidintulugal said.
The older man replaced the shoes and left the building.
"He goes to tell the others about your extraordinary sandals. You could do well trading them."
Probably not a good idea, Shilo thought. Be interesting if some archaeologist discovered them in a dig. "I'm rather attached to them, Nidin."