Daughter of Dragons

Chapter 4-5

Lathwi’s immediate reaction to that last statement was hot, towering rage. Stupid people! Did they mistake snakes for worms? Eagles for flies? She was Lathwi, The Soft One; a daughter of dragons! She snapped to her feet, then started to pace back and forth in front of Katya’s fire. Her obvious agitation attracted a swarm of frowns from Katya’s protective kinsmen, but the old gypsy opposed their worries with a wave.

“Child, what have I said to cause you such distress?” she asked then, sounding more amused than concerned.

“I dragon,” Lathwi insisted.

“So it would seem. And yet you have the semblance of a woman.”

“No.”

“Don’t be contrary, child; it doesn’t become you. And look at yourself through my eyes. You have neither wings nor tail. Your neck is shorter than mine. You walk upright as I do; talk as I do; and no doubt bleed red blood as I do, too. I see wisps of black hair peeking out from beneath your hood, and—”

“No more!” Lathwi snapped. She regretted the whim that had led her to this miserable place. She regretted meeting this sharp-eyed crone even more. For while it galled her to the bone, she could not deny the truth any longer. She was not a full-fledged dragon or even a wingless runt, but only and thoroughly human. She keened to herself, mourning the loss of the one distinction which she had cherished above all else.

“Here now,” Katya chided then. “Why are you making such sad sounds?”

“Not want to be woman.”

“Ah, I think I see.” She waited until Lathwi paced by again, then reached out and grabbed her hand. “Sit with me for a moment, child.” Too dispirited to refuse, Lathwi sank to the ground. “Now listen to me for a moment.

“My people believe that there is nothing more precious in the world than children. It does not matter if we beget them for ourselves or relieve them from outsiders—once the tribe accepts them, they are gypsies forevermore. Maybe this is so with you, too.

“Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“No,” Lathwi replied, being deliberately obtuse.

“I’m saying that it doesn’t matter what you started out as. For reasons that I can’t perceive or hope to understand, you were claimed by the skyfolk. So regardless of where you go or what you do throughout your life, in your heart and in your mind, you will always a dragon.”

The old woman’s words soothed Lathwi’s grief; and while she still felt a hollowness in the pit of her stomach, it no longer threatened to swallow her whole. Perhaps it was so, she thought to herself. Perhaps she did not need to abdicate her most prized distinction simply because she had acquired another, less savoury one. After all, nothing had changed—she was the same Lathwi whom Taziem had raised and sent away. Perhaps it was her fortune to be many things at once: first a dragon, then a sorceress, and now a woman, too.

“You almost as smart as Mother,” she told Katya, meaning to honour her with such rare and high praise. Then, inspired by the association, she asked, “You teach me? I go where you go if you teach.”

A flush banded the gypsy’s withered cheeks, but Lathwi could not tell if it stemmed from pleasure or chagrin. “What about your friends?” she asked. “Could you leave them behind so easily?”

She shrugged. “You say you teach, I leave them.”

“Let me see your hand,” Katya said, and then sighed as she peered at the proffered palm. “I was afraid it might be so. Our paths seem destined to cross several times, but your future is not with us.” She turned the hand over and patted it. “For what it’s worth, child, I’m sorry. The tribe would have been pleased to take you.”

Lathwi received the disappointing news with stoic grace. If Katya said that her fortune did not lie among the gypsies, then it must be so. But there was one more thing she wanted to ask before she and this wise old woman came to the parting in their ways.

“How you know about dragons in my head?”

An image formed in Lathwi’s mind then. Although blurry and all too brief, it was a younger version of Katya casting her a conspiratory wink. Delighted as well as surprised, she flung a rapid succession of image-thoughts back at the gypsy, but Katya only shook her head.

“Your gifts are much stronger than mine ever were,” she said, in a tone tinged with rue, “and that is both a blessing and a curse. For outsiders often fear that which they do not understand, and if they come to believe that you can perceive their thoughts, they may very well develop an urge to see you dead shortly thereafter. So take an old woman’s free advice, and keep those gifts a secret.

“That is all I have to say, child. Please go now, and tell Santana that I wish to sleep. I will bid you farewell, but not goodbye, for I believe we will meet again.”

Lathwi took no exception to this abrupt dismissal—such was the way of dragons. Before she left, though, she touched her nose to Katya’s—a gesture of respect and fondness. The Queen of The Wandering Tribe flushed again, and then sent her on her way with a smile.

As soon as she stepped out of Katya’s campsite, a crowd of curious younglings swarmed around her. The elders capered for her attention; the youngsters preferred to gawk at her from a safer distance.

“Where Santana?” she asked them.

They scattered like a school of startled hatchlings. A moment later, the gold-toothed gypsy came striding out of the shadows. A casual smile belied the swiftness of his gait.

“Did you wish to see me, friend Lathwi?” he asked.

“Katya want sleep now,” she told him.

He hesitated for a moment—just long enough to glimpse into her eyes—then sped off toward Katya’s fire. Sometime later, he came looking for Lathwi again. His approach sent a pod of younglings scrambling.

“Rascals,” he said, sharing a paternal grin with her. “You would think that they’d never seen an outsider before.” When she did not respond to this attempt at small talk, his expression turned suddenly somber. “You are a mystery to me, friend Lathwi. I do not recognize you, and yet I have this feeling that I should know you. Are you a long-lost cousin from another tribe?”

“No,” she replied.

“Ah, well,” he said, when it was clear that she was not going to comment further, “it doesn’t really matter. I only ask because the feeling is so strong.

“Are you hungry? My mother has bade me to treat you as blood, and blood never wants for food or drink.” Before she could refuse either, he shouted to his wife. “Gem, bring my mother’s friend a plate of roast chook and a mug of beer!”

Even as the order spilled from his lips, a high-pitched squabbling erupted from the shadows on the other side of the camp. He flashed her an apologetic, almost embarrassed grin and said, “That is no doubt Tikki and her cousin quarrelling over hair ribbons again. Excuse me while I go and settle the dispute.”

As he sped away, his buxom mate came bustling over with a mug in one hand and a heaping plate in the other. She was a graceful creature, but far too noisy; her skirts swished to the beat of her steps, her earrings and bracelets jingled.

“Here, friend Lathwi,” she said, smiling as she handed Lathwi her supper. “Eat. Drink. There is plenty for all. I would stay and keep you company, but if I am not there to turn the spit, the meat will burn and I will never hear the end of it.”

She hurried off then, swishing and jingling all the way. Lathwi tried to picture herself in the woman’s place, but her brain rejected the image. Katya was right, she decided then. Regardless of where she was or what kind of company she kept, she would always be a dragon.

From his spot in front of Tavi’s fire, Pieter saw Lathwi standing all alone in the dark. A pang of something close to pity urged him to get up and join her, but even as he started to act on the impulse, a trio of rowdy youths distracted him. They ran past Tavi’s camp, then disappeared into the darkness only to come thundering out of the shadows at Lathwi’s back a moment later. As she turned to see what was coming up behind her, one of the boys slammed into her. The other two skidded to a less calamitous stop and immediately began to brush the ruins of her supper from her mail. Their apologies were as loud as they were profuse.

Tavi flashed Pieter a toothy, boys-will-be-boys grin. Pieter was about to respond in kind when Lathwi seized one of those boys by the front of his shirt and hoisted him from his feet. The noisy camp went suddenly quiet. Even the resident tree frogs shut up.

“You got something that be mine,” Lathwi said then, in a voice bristling with menace.

Pieter swore. Damned gypsies! Damned Lathwi, too. He took a step in that direction, hoping to calm her down before she got them into more trouble than they were in already, but then Tavi draped an arm around his shoulders—a casual hold that would’ve seemed friendly only a moment ago. Jamus, too, was being made to stay put. The two taut-jawed women who had him between them undoubtedly had knives in their skirts.

Meanwhile, Santana came bearing down on Lathwi from out of nowhere. His golden smile was strained now. The muscles in his arms were rigid cords.

“Put my nephew down, friend Lathwi,” he told her. “He is a gypsy, he will not run away.”

She shrugged, then set the boy back on his feet. True to his uncle’s word, he stood his ground. His still-downy cheeks were ablaze with embarrassment now, but the look in his green eyes was of pure defiance.

Luke, my little wolf,” the gypsy leader said then, “why is friend Lathwi so excited? Could it be that you have found something that belongs to her—something that might’ve been jarred from her person during that regrettable collision? If so, then give it back. I would not want her to think poorly of us.”

The boy hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly handed her the claw that he had been hiding behind his back. He did not try to deny its theft or his guilt, but rather stood tall in her shadow and silently dared her to do her worst.

She rumbled her approval. In his stead, she would have done the same thing. Perhaps that was because he, like her, had started life as something other than what he was now, she thought, suddenly grasping the significance of his fair skin and green eyes. The notion appealed to her for no reason she could name. Moreover, it put her in a generous mood.

“You know what you steal?” she asked him.

“Steal?” Santana interjected, his face a caricature of horror. “Please, good Lathwi, do not use such harsh words. It was only a bit of boyish mischief—”

“Tell me,” she persisted. “You know what is?”

“I thought it was some kind of knife,” he told her then, flushing as his voice jumped an octave. “It’s not, though, I can see that now. Here, take it back, I don’t want it.”

“Is better than knife,” she declared, making no move to relieve him of it. “Knife soft, can break or chip. This be dragon claw.”

A mutter rippled through the night air. Then, by ones and twos, the whole camp came drifting over as if spellbound for a better look.

“A dragon claw?” Luke echoed breathlessly, ogling the thing in his hands with a newfound mixture of awe and greed. “Where did you get it?”

“From dragon,” she replied, feeling no need to be more explicit. “You want, I let you keep.” As his eyes widened with comprehension, she added, “You try steal from me again, I eat you.”

He lunged forward and hugged her, then raised the claw over his head and went running off and into the night. Less than a heartbeat later, a swarm of squealing younglings went chasing after him. Their raucous departure shook the rest of the camp out of its trance. Tavi clapped Pieter on the back and laughed as if they had just shared a joke, Tikki planted a kiss on Jamus’ cheek, then flitted away before her elders could scold her for being so brazen.

“Your mother must have been one of us,” Santana said to Lathwi, dazzling her with his broadest grin.

“My mother be dragon,” she replied.

His grin went flat with wonder. “I cannot imagine how such a wonder could come to pass, but if you say it, then it must be so. It certainly explains a lot of the feelings I’ve had about you.