Heart's Blood

  The door snicked shut behind them.

  2

  AKKI FOLLOWED the chattering Kkarina as if she didn't know the way. Kkarina was a gossip, though there was nothing mean about her. She just liked to talk. And talk. And talk. Akki was too tired to talk back, tired from the last weeks in the trog caves, from their escape through the cold underground river, the copter ride. And from the arrival home. After a year with just Jakkin—and a few weeks with the brutal, silent trogs—so much talking overwhelmed her.

  "Let me get you something to eat," Kkarina said, turning to Akki. "You must be starving. What can there be out there in the wild? Leaves? Mushrooms?"

  Akki had to answer. "Yes, and berries, boil, teas, flikka soups."

  Kkarina looked positively ill. "Flikka soup? No, really—it's a wonder you didn't starve." She always thought people were starving.

  "Shower first, Kkarina," Akki said, almost pleading. "Then we can have food talk after."

  "I can bring something into the shower room for you." Kkarina's little eyes were like berries in a huge white pudding. "A good cup of hot takk at least? It's always been your favorite."

  Akki couldn't help herself; she shuddered, and her stomach turned over. "No thanks, I need that shower right now. I can't begin to explain how dirty I am. After that, bread and cheese. And a small glass of chikkar."

  "You remember where the shower room is?"

  Akki put her hands on Kkarina's. "I've only been gone a year, Kay. Unless you've moved the shower."

  Kkarina laughed. "Not since this morning."

  "I'll need a towel, and soap."

  "Soap in the shower dish. I'll find you towels. You'll need one for your hair, too. Your poor hair. It used to be so lovely. How well I remember brushing it when you were a child, and braiding it, and..." She wandered off, still adrift in reminiscences.

  Akki walked down the hall to the shower room, thinking, That went all right. At least she didn't ask any real questions. Like why I shuddered at the mention of takk. And how did we last through the cold.

  Turning on the hot water, Akki stepped into the stall. As the water pounded down from the metal showerhead—one of her father's early offworld barters—she instantly felt the entire horrible year disappear, like dirt down the water hole. Oh, there'd been some good points, she thought as she soaped up her hair, her poor hair that used to be so lovely. Being alone with Jakkin was the best. She'd gotten to know him in a way she'd never have been able to living at the nursery. Time to talk away from any teasing. Time to learn one another's rhythms, hungers, fears. And she'd also learned to speak mind-to-mind with the brood. Taught herself to cook and to make pots and...

  But hot water ... There's nothing like hot water. For several minutes she simply gave herself up to it, without thought, without worry. However, once the water ran clear, the soap all washed off, she began to think about what had to be done next.

  She had to figure how to get to The Rokk, the larger of the two cities on Austar, and look up her old teacher Dr. Henkky. Only there, at a real lab, could she finish her training as a doctor and figure out how to make or synthesize or re-create whatever had happened to them when they sheltered in Heart's Blood's egg chamber. How they'd emerged being able to hear what was in a dragon's mind, could mind send to one another, and could stay outside even during the ice-cold bone-killing four hours of Dark-After. And she had to figure this out without telling anyone—especially Henkky—what she was doing.

  Thinking about Henkky and the city, she began to wonder if it was safe to go there, if anyone would recognize her—besides Golden and Henkky. Anyone who might question why she was alive, who might wonder if she'd had a hand in the Rokk Major disaster. After all, though The Rokk was the larger of the two cities on Austar, there were only about a half million people spread between it and Krakkow, and slightly less on the farms, the nurseries, in the countryside. She could hide out here at her father's nursery forever and be protected by the folks who'd known her since she was a child. But could she do the same in The Rokk?

  Maybe I should just stay here, make a lab, and try to figure out about the egg chamber and... But that was no good. Though there was a small hospice here in the nursery, stocked with bandages and salves and medicines bought from offworlders, there were no microscopes, no slides and pipettes and other stuff. She didn't even know the actual names of all the equipment she needed or how to get it. She hadn't learned enough yet to use all of them. But in The Rokk, Henkky would have everything she needed, of that she was sure.

  But what do I need? She didn't even know what she was looking for. Had the blood of the dying dragon's egg chamber somehow gone through them into their own bloodstreams? Had their DNA been changed? Their brain chemistry? Was the thing that gave them their new gifts a virus, a bacterium, a disease? Or just a miracle?

  Finally, she put her head in her hands and had to admit to herself that she'd done only a little bit of hands-on medicine with Henkky and some vet work, here at the nursery, on dragons. She was no researcher, even if Jakkin thought she was.

  It's impossible. How can I figure out what I need to know when I know so little to begin with? She felt herself starting to cry, the tears mixing with the hot water. Jakkin believed in her, was counting on her. The dragons needed her. Everything was on her shoulders.

  And I know nothing.

  She had never felt so useless in her life.

  "Chikkar?" A hand with a glass half full of the golden liquid seemed to float into the shower, interrupting her misery.

  Taking the glass, she let some of the shower drizzle into it, watering it down, before taking a sip. She hadn't eaten anything that day, and the chikkar did what it always did—hit her in the back of her throat, sending a lightning strike down to her toes. One sip. She didn't dare take more yet.

  She handed the glass back. "Whoa, Kkarina, I'm definitely not ready for that. Even watered down, it's too much for me." Turning off the shower, she stepped out and let Kkarina wrap her in a large, heavy towel. It felt almost as good as the shower. There hadn't been any towels out in the wild.

  Her misery momentarily forgotten, Akki dressed in the new set of leathers that Kkarina had brought to her. They fit perfectly. Then she had a sudden shudder, remembering that the leathers came from the body of a dead dragon. But there was literally nothing else here at the nursery for her to wear except, maybe, one of Kkarina's old aprons. She giggled, picturing herself wrapped in such a garment.

  "Good, girl, that you can still laugh. Must have been awful out in that worm waste they call mountains. Lots of weeping and wailing, I would guess."

  No good telling Kkarina what she was laughing about. Or anything good about being out in the mountains. Nothing about how beautiful the stark landscape could be, especially at night during Dark-After, because then they knew they were safe. "How did you guess what size I needed?"

  "And didn't I raise you from the time your father brought you back from the city?" Kkarina's face was bright red from the heat in the shower room.

  Akki knew that Kkarina was talking about the baggeries, where her mother had died. Akki thought, Kkarina is my real mother, in action if not blood. One part of her wanted to tell the old cook everything, then nestle in her fat arms, head against her plump breast. Drink in the familiar smells, part yeast and takk, part clean sweat. But that's impossible. Impossible until they figured out how the solution could be shared. Until I figure it out. She wanted to cry again.

  "Why are you looking so strange, girl?" Kkarina asked.

  "I'm thinking I have to get to The Rokk and learn to be a doctor for real this time," she said, only lying a little. "Another year of my apprenticeship should do it."

  "But you just got home." Kkarina's eyes filled. "Surely you can stay here a bit. There's no hurry. Or is there?"

  "I wanted to see you, Kay-Ma," Akki said, her old special word for Kkarina, which always worked for her when she wanted something. Though she felt guilty using it now. Still, she had to get Kkarina off the s
cent.

  Kkarina used the bottom of her apron to wipe her streaming eyes. "I never thought to hear that name from you again."

  Taking Kkarina's hands, Akki said, "Can you help me get to the city?"

  "If you promise to return."

  "Of course," Akki said, and meant it. "Whenever I can. After all, the nursery is my home." This time she wasn't lying at all. Threading her arm though Kkarina's, she added, "Now tell me about all that happened this past year."

  And Kkarina told her about: the rebels being caught—"Thank goodness!" The Federation embargoing the planet—"As it should till we sort ourselves! All those nice young offworld star pilots killed, and your dear father." And the senate voting to free all the bonders—"Not that they asked me, but you should see what that's done to our poor world: roaming workers, bond pairs severed, life as we know it over—"

  "And me home," Akki said, laying her head against Kkarina's huge shoulder.

  "Ah well, there's naught ended that can't be mended," Kkarina told her with a happy sigh. She patted Akki's head, ignoring the fact that Akki's hair was wet.

  I shall remember that, Akki told herself, as they made their way to the kitchen, where bread and cheese awaited her. And maybe another sip or two of chikkar. "There's naught ended that can't be mended."

  3

  THE COPTER BLADES sent up a new dust storm, shutting Jakkin and Auricle away from the sight of the others. The hatchling, once more curled into a ball, lay in Jakkin's right hand. His left hand tugged at Auricle's ear and he gently but firmly guided her toward the incubarn.

  The instant they passed through the great arched door, Auricle started to tremble, like a mountain shuddering.

  "Aaaah," Jakkin crooned, and sent her a still, blue pool.

  That helped a little, and once she recognized the familiar scent of other females and their broods, she quieted entirely, sending little rivers of pale color rippling through Jakkin's mind. Female dragons liked to give birth within easy calling distance to one another. Probably something they did in the wild. As much for safety's sake as for comfort, he thought.

  "Safe?" Auricle sent him, picking up on his thought. "Comfort?"

  He assured her with gentle rainbows but kept leading her on. At least she trusted him enough to go in without a fight.

  They went along the wide hallway, heading to a back stall. Jakkin sensed snatches of sendings from the dragons they passed. Soft pastel rainbows, querulous bubbles that expanded and popped, even a rough, dark snort that chased them down the hall. Each time he sent back a calm, watery blue picture— "Gentle, fire-tongues, gentle"—as he used to, unthinkingly, back when the nursery was truly his home.

  Jakkin knew that Auricle would like to be with the other hen dragons. But at the same time, she'd be happier as far from the nursery workers as possible. How could she possibly know that they would be kind to her, not rough like her former masters, the trogs.

  "Trust me," he whispered to her, then sent it as well, his sending decorated with gold.

  Auricle grunted but betrayed no hint of being mollified.

  Jakkin led her farther back into the barn and Auricle turned her head inquisitively, the great neck swiveling like a giant flower on a giant stalk. If anything, Jakkin sensed her fear begin to grow. She'd become quiet, and a ripple erupted under the neck of her skin—a waterfall of fear.

  They were past the other females now, way past, deep into the darker recesses of the incubarn. Since nursery rules dictated that any incoming dragons remain quarantined for seventeen days, her placement was not Jakkin's decision to make. Diseases like Warp and Slobbers could wipe out an entire herd, so nursery folk were extremely careful about such things. She would have to stay away from the others that whole time. Jakkin had no way of explaining the rule to her. He worried that she might equate it with being in the caves, isolated, ready to be killed.

  "Thou beauty," he whispered to her, though she was not really pretty at all, but a rather mousy creature, her pinkish color showing no sign of a fighter's spirit, none of the brightness that made a dragon great. Not like Heart's Blood, who'd been a deep and gorgeous red. In fact, if Auricle had been born in the nursery, she'd have been an early cull. She would have been used for her meat and skin, he thought, then shuddered. Perhaps the nursery folk and the trogs were not so different after all.

  "Danger?" questioned Auricle again. Her sending was a tremulous yellow wave, matching Jakkin's shudder.

  Steeling himself, he forced his voice to calm. "Thou strong heart," he said aloud, so that she might gentle under the sound, but softly, so as not to wake the hatchling, now sleeping in the crook of his right elbow. The hatchling never stirred.

  And then he thought, Auricle truly has a strong heart. Hadn't she survived the trogs, the underwater swim, the waterfall, the long flight here? Wouldn't she make a great breeder? "Thou strong heart," he sent her, and this time meant it entirely.

  Finally, they were at the last stall. Jakkin opened the door gently with his left hand, which was a bit awkward, but he managed. Then he stood back, holding the door ajar, and told Auricle to go in.

  She lifted her head and sniffed, tugging herself free of his hand. "Danger?" He was leading her back into a place not unlike the birthing stall where the trogs had kept her. Her sending was alive with small red flames.

  "No danger," he repeated, damping the flames. "I will let no one harm thee. Trust me?"

  At last, she relaxed, her great head dipping up and down, and after a moment, she moved into the stall. Putting her back to the far wall, she dropped to her knees, then rolled onto her side. Never having flown before, being far from all she knew, she was exhausted. Jakkin thought, Fear is exhausting, too. But she trusted him. And one day she'll trust the rest of the nursery folk. She would have to.

  "Guard the hatchling," Jakkin told her. He settled the little dragon between her front legs. "Guard it well." It would give her something to do, take her mind off her own fears. And it would help the hatchling, too.

  Auricle pulled the hatchling close and began thrumming, a sound that was part hum, part snore. It reverberated in her chest and the hatchling snuggled even closer.

  As Jakkin left, she was licking off the last of the hatchling's gray eggskin. Underneath it was a pink already darker than she. Auricle worked on the dragonling, sending a lullaby of soft colors into its sleeping mind. It didn't respond, its mind a blank fuzz.

  Jakkin blanked his own mind as he passed the other hen dragons, careful not to roil them. Careful not to get too friendly with them, either. If they were suddenly too comfortable with him, the other nursery workers would notice and might wonder why. It was important that neither he nor Akki raise any sort of questions in the minds of the nursery folk. Questions would lead inevitably to answers. False answers. Made-up stories. Lies.

  And anyone, he warned himself, no matter how careful, can trip himself up over a lie.

  ***

  ONCE JAKKIN was at the bondhouse, he was overcome by the warmth and the smell of sweat and bread and takk. Familiar smells. Surrendering himself to them, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw several men he recognized, and several he did not. One, Jo-Janekk, who ran the nursery store, grabbed him by the arm.

  "After your shower, son, come see me. We'll outfit you. For free." He grinned at Jakkin.

  Jakkin wasn't surprised Jo-Janekk knew he was off to the shower. The nursery was always a hive of gossip, innuendo, guesswork, and talk. But he was stunned at such generosity—bonders usually had to pay for everything.

  "I will," he whispered to Jo-Janekk, wondering if home had changed so much in just a year.

  ***

  THE SHOWER he took was long and hot. He'd all but forgotten what they were like, then remembered with a fierce attention to every part of his body. Having recently swum through an underground river, he thought that he could hardly be all that dirty. But it was as though this one long hot shower was able to wash away a full year of dirt. He luxuriated in the heat, th
e force of the water pounding on his shoulders, his head, his back. He let more than just the dirt wash away. He let go of suspicion, terror, longing, doubt.

  Wrapped in a towel, he made his way to the bondhouse store, where fresh clothing was piled on marked shelves, sandals hung by their straps, sturdy gloves, knives, anything a bonder might want and be willing to pay for.

  Jo-Janekk saw him and said, "Size?"

  "I was 14s," Jakkin said.

  Jo-Janekk whipped around to the 14s shelf and took down a shirt. He held it out to Jakkin. "Not any longer." Another grin.

  Jakkin took the shirt and held it up against himself. In the year he'd been gone, he'd grown several hands more, put on muscle.

  Head cocked to one side, Jo-Janekk sized up Jakkin. He took a shirt and leather vest and pants from the 18s shelf. "This should be right."

  Jakkin went behind the changing wall, stripped off the towel, and got dressed. The 18s were a perfect fit.

  "As I said, no charge. Not that you have any coins yet," Jo-Janekk told him. "Sandals—well, that's a different matter. When you're ready for new ones, come with a pocketful of coins and we'll see." He brushed a bit of graying hair back from his face.

  "What do I do with my old clothes?" Jakkin asked.

  "Put 'em in the burn barrel," Jo-Janekk said, then laughed.

  Jakkin laughed as well. Maybe that's where my past should go, too—into the burn barrel. He sent out a loud crackling red-hot picture, as if everything in the past year was afire. Everything except for Akki, and the dragons. He sent out the fire picture again, but Akki didn't respond. She may have ignored him by choice, or been asleep, or out of range. And of course no one in the nursery responded, either.

  4

  AKKI CONSIDERED taking a quick nap. She even allowed Kkarina to walk her down the hall to the room at the end of the corridor, a room she was to share with two other girls, both newcomers to the nursery. Vonikka was a redhead with a crooked grin. The other, a mousy blond whose looks were at odds with her rather outsized personality, was called Larkki. Kkarina had arranged it all while Akki had been showering.