Daughter of Dragons

Chapter 4-6

“Stay with us,” he urged her then. “The Wandering Tribe has revered skyfolk since the world’s first dawn. It would be a privilege beyond compare to have one living among us.”

She shook her head. “Katya say my future not with you.” His hopeful expression wilted. “It breaks my heart to hear that,” he said. “but my mother is seldom wrong. If she says you are not for us, then I must believe her. But I will tell you this, friend Lathwi: you will be forever welcome in this camp.”

Then, shifting moods again, he cried, “Enough of this serious talk! Let us celebrate while we still have a chance. Tikki!” he shouted. “Come and dance for us!”

“Which dance would you have of me, Father?” she asked.

“The Dance of the Flying Dragon. Yorgi, get your drum and give her the beat. Gem, help out with your flute. Make room, everybody. Make room!”

The gypsies formed a spacious circle. Tikki stood in its center, surrounded by shadows that the firelight cast at her feet. She waited for the excited buzz to die down, then nodded at her uncle.

The thump of a taut-skinned drum floated through the darkness like a disembodied heartbeat, then merged with the poignant voice of a sweet reed flute. Together, they evoked the image of a clear blue sky. Tikki’s arms extended slowly open; the shawl which spanned taut across her shoulders gave her the aspect of wings. Stretching her neck into an elegant arc, she then began to dance. Her moves were basic at first: long, graceful strides accompanied by majestic strokes of her ersatz wings. The flutter of her ribbons and skirt suggested the presence of wind. Then the music quickened a little, and she began to embellish her steps with sinewy dips and whirls. Soon again, she incorporated acrobatic leaps and bounds which saw her in the air more often than on the ground. On and on she went, fuelled by passion and youth’s raw power. And when she finally glided to a final, exhausted stop, she loosed her version of a dragon’s roar.

Up until that moment, Lathwi had been rapt: the girl’s dance had captured Shoq’s surprising grace, her own memory had infused it with power. But that puny squeak was utterly wrong—it had sent her sky-dancing heart plummeting back to earth. This is what it should sound like, she thought, and gave voice to the proud cry of a dragon in flight.

For one stunned moment, the gypsies could only stare at her. Then, following Santana’s lead, they bowed.

Pieter was dumbfounded. Everyone knew that gypsies did not bow to outsiders, not even to those who could have them killed for their pride. Then Jamus appeared beside him. His face was an amazed blank.

“Who in hell is she?” he whispered.

“She’s Lathwi,” he replied with a shrug. No other definition sufficed.

G

They rose early the next morning, a little bleary-eyed from the beer, but otherwise hale and still in possession of all of their belongings. Santana tried to persuade them into staying another day, but Lathwi’s mind was already set.

“I go now,” she told him, and then headed for her horse without another word.

“Many thanks for your excellent hospitality,” Pieter said, embarrassed by her abruptness. “I hope we meet again some day.”

“Call on me the next time you come to Compara,” Jamus urged. With a wink, he added, “And don’t forget to bring your pretty daughter.”

The gold-tooth gypsy clapped each of them on the back—Jamus just a little harder than Pieter. “Farewell, friends,” he said. “May the road ahead of you always be more pleasant than the road you leave behind.”

A crowd gathered to see them off. Katya was not there, but the boy Luke was. He seemed taller today, and perhaps a shade less downy-cheeked as well. Unlike the other children, he didn’t clamour for their attention, but merely saluted them with his dragon-claw as they rode by. Lathwi bared her teeth at him, then continued on her way without looking back.

“I almost hated to leave,” Jamus said to Pieter, as they trotted along behind Lathwi. “Tikki and I were getting along splendidly.”

The trapper snorted derisively. “Too splendidly, if you ask me. Another day in that camp, and that girl’s mother and aunts would’ve carved you up like a holiday roast.”

“You’re just jealous because she picked me instead of you.”

“Maybe; maybe not. At least I can be reasonably sure of spending the rest of my life with all my parts intact. You, on the other hand, are liable to lose one or more of the kind that count any day now.”

“All the more reason to live each day to its fullest—if you know what I mean,” Jamus added with a sly wink. Then, as if inspired by the thought, he caught up with Lathwi. She welcomed his arrival with her usual indifference, but he was in high spirits this morning and refused to be put off.

“You spent a lot of time with Madame Katya last night,” he said. “If you don’t mind my asking, what did you two talk about?”

“She tell my fortune,” she replied.

“Did she tell you that you were going to meet a tall, golden-haired man and fall hopelessly in love with him?” he teased, batting his lashes at her.

“No,” she replied, in a utterly humourless tone. “She smart, not talk nonsense. I want stay, learn from her, but she say it not my future.”

He was glad to hear that someone had finally figured out a way to refuse her, but he did not say so aloud. His years of diplomatic service made him more circumspect.

“Oh well, these things have a way of working out for the best,” he said instead. “Gypsies lead harsh lives more often than not.” Then, because he was curious, he asked, “Why did they bow to you last night anyway?”

“They got respect for dragons,” she told him.

“So that really was a dragon claw,” he marvelled. “How remarkable. Is there any chance that you might give me one, too? It would make a wonderful addition to my collection of curiosities.”

“No.”

“Why not?” he asked, peeved now because he could not see how she could be so generous with a would-be thief and yet so stingy with him.

“Claw got no meaning for you. You want only because it curiosity.” She made the word sound like an obscenity.

“Yes, but—”

“You want claw?” she challenged him then. “Be bold like youngling, try to steal. You survive, I let you keep.”

That wasn’t the way things were done in the civilized world, he wanted to tell her. Well-bred people minded their manners. But she wasn’t well-bred, he reminded himself, and she wasn’t civilized. And the truth was, he didn’t want the claw badly enough to tangle with her.

“Oh, keep the damned thing,” he growled, then wheeled his horse around and rejoined Pieter. There, he grumbled, “Blessed Dreamer, but she can be such a b***h!”

“True,” Pieter agreed. “So when are you going to learn to let sleeping dogs lie?”

“Shut up,” was his only reply.

The three of them rode on in silence for a long time to come.

G

They made camp in the woods that evening. Still tired from their sojourn with the gypsies, they fell asleep early and slept without rousing throughout the night.

In the morning, a chattering squirrel jarred Pieter from his dreams. He stretched to wring the vestiges of sleep from his veins, then sat up and glanced at his companions. Jamus was cleaning his teeth with a peeled twig; Lathwi was spying on him through slitted eyes.

She was due for a scrubbing, too, he thought, taking critical note of her dirty skin and mail. Liselle would have a fit if he brought her into the house encased in that much grime.

“Lathwi,” he said, not quite sure of how to broach the subject with her. “If all goes well today, we’ll be sleeping in Compara tonight.”

“Good,” she replied, and sprang to her feet. “We go.”

“There’s no need to rush,” he told her. “The city is less than a day’s ride from here. And besides, you need to do something before we leave.”

“What that?”

“There’s a stream not too far from here,” he said. “I think you ought to find it and spend some time in the water.”

“Why? I not thirsty. And I not want swim.”

“This has nothing to do with drinking or swimming. You need a bath.”

“What that?”

“I can show you what a bath is,” Jamus told her. “I was just thinking that I could use one, too.”

His offer roused her suspicions. The last time he had been so charitable, she had wound up poisoning herself with gish. If she had to learn about this ‛bath’, then she would rather have Pieter teach it to her. She much preferred his methods. The only problem was, he seemed perfectly happy to let Jamus conduct this lesson.

“Why I need this bath, Pieter?” she asked, hoping to trick him out of a useful clue or two.

“It’s important for you make a good first impression on Liselle,” he replied. “And she has rather definite ideas as to how a person should look and smell.”

“I smell same as you,” she asserted. “Why you not take bath?”

He scorned that suggestion with a snort. “I don’t even come close to smelling like you do. And besides, I’m not the one who has to impress Liselle. She already knows me.”

Lathwi hissed then, signalling her resignation. She did not know what this Liselle was, or why she had to impress it, but Pieter obviously thought that it was important to do so, so she would submit to Jamus’ tutelage.

“I take bath,” she told him. “You show how.”

“I am your humble servant,” he replied, and then turned his now-grinning face to Pieter. “Which way did you say that stream was?”

Pieter pointed and said, “I’ll pack while you’re gone.”

“Take your time,” Jamus advised him. “If all goes well, we’ll be gone a long time.”

Pieter was tempted to offer the blonde a wager on that, but refrained at the last moment. There was no such thing as a sure bet where Lathwi was concerned.

G

She heard the stream before she saw it; its chuckling voice filled the spaces between the trees with the sound of its secret Name. She smiled knowingly, then followed Jamus down the side of a ferny embankment. There, the air turned sweet and damp. Flashes of refracted sunlight dazzled their eyes.

“How now?” she asked.

“Strip,” he told her. When she hesitated, he extended a hand. “Would you like some help?”

“No,” she snapped, and batted his hand away. She wasn’t happy with the idea of exposing herself in his presence. The extent of her softness was something she preferred to keep to herself. Regardless of her preferences, though, she was not going to back out. She had committed herself to this lesson; therefore she would strip.

She removed her scales with swift efficiency—first releasing each of the seams, then shucking the hide all at once. As her hood slid free of her head, strands of limp black hair slithered across her face. She frowned. Body hair was un-dragon like, an embarrassment like her softness. She would have hacked it off right then and there if Jamus had not distracted her. He was n***d now, too, and what a revolting sight that was! His body was so soft, it almost jiggled in places; and so hairy, it seemed almost bearish. And she didn’t know what to think of the thing that dangled between his legs. She knew what it was, all males had one, but for some reason, she had expected humans to be more like dragons in that regard. Sires kept their organs tucked away until such times as they were needed.

Jamus saw her staring at his groin and could not stop himself from smiling. It was rather impressive, he thought. And the sight of her standing there clad in nothing but long black hair and sunlight did nothing to diminish its stature. She was magnificent—a sculpture of solid muscle. Even her tiny breasts were rock-hard. And Dreamer, she had scars all over her! Some were faint and puckered, others were freshly healed. The thought of running his tongue over that violent network sent a shiver down his spine.

“Let’s get in the water,” he said, because he was afraid that his growing excitement might scare her away otherwise.

The stream was swollen from springtime rains and the last of the winter melt. An instant after he set foot in it, his blood turned to ice. He ground a yelp between his teeth, then forced himself to go deeper. Behind him, Lathwi hissed. She did not like being in this much water, especially when it was this cold.

“Get yourself wet,” he told her, when they were in up to their waists. She splashed herself half-heartedly. He shook his head. “No, no. Like this,” he said, and ducked beneath the water only to resurface an instant later. “Go ahead,” he panted then. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Reluctantly, she did as she was told. When she came back up again, she found Jamus rubbing a foamy, lard-coloured knot between his hands.

“What that?” she demanded, instantly suspicious.

“It’s soap,” he replied, and then began to rub the foam in her hair. “No bath is complete without it.”

“Stinks,” she told him.

“Don’t be silly,” he chided. “It smells like violets.”

“Violets stink.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, refusing to argue with her. “Now just try to relax. Bath-time can be a lot of fun.”

He scrubbed her hair into a high lather, then commanded her to rinse. She bobbed down, then up again, now dripping with disapproval as well as water. If this was his idea of fun, he was less intelligent than she had supposed him to be. That smelly soap was making her nose itch, and the water was chilling her to the bone.

“Done now?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he crooned, delighted to have such control over her. “Now we have to wash the rest of you.”

He began with the muscled flats of her shoulder blades, then moved on to the rest of her scarred backside. She was tense at first, but he was skilled with his fingers and soon had her leaning into his surreptitious massage. His touches evolved into caresses then, lavish strokes which paid homage to her hips, buttocks, belly and breasts. Finally, he slid his soap-slick fingers into the bearded vee between her legs and gave her a brief taste of what could be. Then he ordered her to rinse.

“Now?” she asked, when she came splashing to the surface again. He thought he heard a different sort of hope in her voice.

“Not yet. It’s my turn now,” he said, and then handed her the soap.

She rumbled to herself. She felt surprisingly good now, all loose and tingly. Now she wanted to get out of this icy stream and bask in the sun. But since he wanted to test her, she was obliged to stay put and show him what she’d learned. So she took the soap and went to work. As she proceeded, the thing between his legs began to swell.

“Soap that, too?” she asked, simply because she wanted to be thorough.

“Definitely,” he breathed. As she slid her soapy hands down the length of it, he gasped and then said, “Oh, Lathwi, that feels so good. Now put it in your mouth.”

A doubtful scowl furrowed her brow. “Why for?”

“It’s something every woman should try at least once,” he told her. “Go on, give it a taste. If you don’t like it, I won’t force you to continue.”

She shrugged. The path to being a woman seemed to be riddled with peculiar turns.

He closed his eyes as she leaned toward him, then arched his back as her breath skirted his loins. For one incredible moment, pleasure ruled his universe. Then a steel-jawed trap snapped shut on him, and pleasure turned to spangles of pain. He pushed her away with a garbled cry, then thrashed his way to shore. There, he hastily scooped up his clothes and went storming into the woods.

How curious, she thought, as she watched him disappear. A moment ago, he had been keen on being tasted. Now he was flapping around like some great wounded land fowl. Was this another example of acquired taste? If so, then how many times did he have to be bitten before he started to like it?

She shook her head at the quirks of men and waded back to shore. There, she hacked off her dripping hair with the not-claw and then started to get dressed. It was then that she noticed the smell: a sharp, distressing melange of sweat and other animal odours. It was coming from her scales. She was instantly appalled. This was what happened to those who kept company with men and beasts, she scolded herself. Their noses went dull, their habits turned bad. She would have to be more careful from now on, or someone would mistake her for prey.

She scrubbed at her scales with fine dry sand until they smelled dragon-clean again. Then, with the same fervour, she applied the sand to herself. In time, the stink of violets wore off.

“It’s about time,” Pieter chided, when finally she came ambling back into camp. “I was about to go looking for you.” Then, noticing the crumbs of sand on her face and hands, his mock frown turned sincere. “I thought you were going to take a bath!”

“I take,” she told him. “Now we go to Compara.”

There was no point in arguing with her, Pieter decided. All he could do only was hope that Liselle would understand.