dragon bard (beta)
Chapter five: before
This is a work in progress, meant for newsletter subscribers only! Please keep the link private, and excuse any typos, etc--fully edited book to come fall 2021!
The stall reeked of cinnamon and sage, scents rich and exotic in Makina’s nose after years on the ice. Pots hung in clusters from racks on the ceiling, clanging in the chill breeze off the bay. The shopkeeper, a weather-worn woman with a beak of a nose, squeezed between rolls of kashana fiber and bundles of oakwood, seeking the sugar loaves stacked against the back wall. This crooked alley of vendor stalls was nowhere Makina would have frequented in the old world, but Portown was different. The merchants who got ahead here, in spite of the taxes, were the ones who gouged new migrants for homesteading goods, and cheated settlers on the goods they brought from the ice to trade.
In Portown, ironically, a shabby stall and lack of success marked an honest merchant, and this stretch of dingy shops tucked hard against the foul-smelling waters of the bay was the most honest part of town, even if it looked one of the poorest. She could see it in the eyes of the shopkeeper, who had that rugged set to her chin Makina remembered so well from rebels in the war, who’d believed in what they were standing for even though they knew they would lose. A kind of martyrdom. She regretted what she’d had to do to some of them.
“Hundredweight of sugar, you say?” the woman asked, uncovering a stack of sugar loaves.
“Make it two.” This woman might have been one of those rebels. Truths knew enough of them had fled across the waters, seeking exile rather than death.
“And a hide, to wrap it in? Or have ye brought your own?”
“A hide too. But I’ll choose it.” Makina nodded at the skins hanging against the back wall, as precious here as copper and iron in the old world. She watched the woman pull down the hides and begin holding them up, keeping her hands still at her sides where they wanted to wipe themselves reflexively on her furs. She’d been in Portown all of five hours and already she was eager to leave. To get back to the caldera, or to the ice even, to the peace of a long walk with just a dragon and the lull’s rhythm for company. This place reminded her too much of the old world, as though some stink of it had carried with the boats in the harbor on their fortnight journey.
“That one,” she said, spying a black-speckled hide with only a few holes and most of its fur intact. This was what she needed most—you could survive on caldera vegetables and unsweetened dragon blood, if need be, but neither scales nor ironworks could replace leather. Another irony of the ice: they had come here to escape the old world, and yet they still needed it. And now that dragon bones had been shown to cure the Blackness, the old world needed them, too.
The merchant clucked to herself. “You know your hides.”
“My father,” Makina said, surprising herself. “He was a tanner. Before.”
The worn woman nodded as she worked. To most people on the ice, before was before. No need to go into details. For their generation, at least. Kaden’s would be different. She hoped.
“Eighty-three imperials, then, unless ye were needing something else?”
“That will be it,” Makina said, pulling coins from the pocket sewn inside her furs. “Have you heard speak of the Congress this eve?”
“Oh aye.” The merchant laid the hide over a table and placed the sugar loaves inside. “Down at the stockman's banquet house. Powerful foolish idea, if you ask me, but then I'm just an old merchant, and I know you do have it harder out on the ice.”
Makina took her time counting out coins. It was much the same sentiment she'd heard from the pen keepers and bone traders and the women tending stockpots, a mixture of sympathy and disapproval. Except for the fools who said they were going, who had that zealous light in their eyes, as though they had discovered something new in the history of the world. It was the light that came before the beaten, dogged one she saw in the merchant’s gaze. The idealist before the martyr.
“We surely do,” Makina said, choosing her words carefully. She was here to gather information as much as she was supplies, and she’d long ago learned good information was not to be caught with blunt force. “And some changes to the taxation structure wouldn't hurt, but I worry for the ones that go. The empress doesn't look kindly on dissent.”
The merchants pursed her lips, sliding Makina’s pile of coins across the plank and beginning to recount. “Powers send it won't come to any harm, with a member of House Dukress in attendance.”
Makina only barely controlled the impulse to glance up, betraying her true interest. The Empress had ears everywhere, even in alleys like this. Even in women like this one.
“House Dukress?” she asked after a moment, idly. “What do they have to do with the Congress?”
“Quite a bit, it seems,” the merchant said, then clucked her tongue. “Eighty-three clink indeed. I thank you. Unless ye wanted a length of rawhide to keep this tied?”
The bundle would hold together just fine once it was on the sled, but if that was the woman’s price for information, so be it. A woman who sold information was unlikely to also be an imperial ear. Makina set another few coins down. “That would be useful, thanks. You were saying?”
“Alamina Dukress,” the merchant answered, sliding a cord under the bundle and beginning an intricate knot. “Got off the boat just this morning, though you had to know what you were looking for. My man figures she wants to champion the cause, use it as a wedge against the Chanans.”
Chanan was the ruling house, the empress’s house, and had been since before the war. “Rumors,” Makina said, waving a hand. “Unless you saw them?”
“See a lot of things, this close to the water. Packet of chili seeds to warm you out there?”
Another bid for money. Makina dearly missed the heat of her native foods, and this would be a way to justify the expense… but she didn’t want to look too interested. She remembered the training on blending with local societies, the warnings against actions or body language giving away intent, even when your words did not.
Makina smiled apologetically, taking the bundle. “No thanks. These years on the ice have taken away my taste for spice.” She would check this woman’s information against someone else’s. She hadn’t heard of a noble daughter so far today, but it would change everything if it were true. And maybe Dukress had wanted to enter covertly.
The merchant eyed her, scrunching her chin like a farmer sizing up an ox. “Saw her myself,” she said eventually, as though deciding she was strong enough to pull a plow. “Stepping from the ship just over there.” She thrust her nose towards the docks, where a high-prowed vessel floated a worn passenger scow, unloading wide-eyed migrants into a waiting crowd of porters and merchants. The ship looked noble.
“Thank you,” Makina said. The woman had decided to trust her, she who had almost certainly been on the other side of the war. But then, that was before. And Makina was on no one’s side now, except her own. And Kaden’s.
She wanted to ask more questions, to be absolutely certain it was Alamina Dukress the shopkeeper had seen, but her gut told her no. She had shown too much interest as it was, and absolute certainty was impossible anyway. That had been a hard truth to learn. You didn’t know, you couldn’t know, and yet you had to act. She adjusted her furs, took up her bundle, and stepped from the stall’s highboard into the muddy streets.
And now it was time to act. She had had every intention of following through with Kaden's plan, of staying away from the congress and just learning what she could from the townspeople, but the situation had changed. A member of House Dukress attending would lend the congress an air of credibility. Imperial hands might still be there, but violence was unlikely to break out—it would be seen as an attack from House Chanan against House Dukress, and the empress had been careful to avoid those since the end of the war. Open attacks, anyway.
A dragon team passed by, pulling a sled of bones, clawed feet hissing in the mud and leaving dry footprints in their wake. Not only would the Dukress’s presence mean the congress was safer, it also meant that what was discussed would be more important—and more likely to be garbled through hearsay afterward. The Dukress would be careful to speak exactly what she intended, because word of it would reach the capital and be taken as House position. The doe-eyed rebels, on the other hand, would just be excited to have an old world noble attend, and would inflate everything she said in their stories the next day.
Makina reached the pen where she was keeping her dragon, its lull beating just slightly out of time with the town's massive one booming from a tower in the center of the city. As she did, she felt that old shift inside, the decision-making that for her had always been more guts than brains. Much as it was still dangerous, and she’d come with no intentions of getting anywhere near the congress, she needed to go.
The decision stirred a lot inside her—fear, yes, but also excitement at the prospect of a little danger, after so many years playing it safe. That, and a chance to use some skills she hadn’t in a long time.
Yes, she would go to the congress. But not as Makina Stalksong.
In Portown, ironically, a shabby stall and lack of success marked an honest merchant, and this stretch of dingy shops tucked hard against the foul-smelling waters of the bay was the most honest part of town, even if it looked one of the poorest. She could see it in the eyes of the shopkeeper, who had that rugged set to her chin Makina remembered so well from rebels in the war, who’d believed in what they were standing for even though they knew they would lose. A kind of martyrdom. She regretted what she’d had to do to some of them.
“Hundredweight of sugar, you say?” the woman asked, uncovering a stack of sugar loaves.
“Make it two.” This woman might have been one of those rebels. Truths knew enough of them had fled across the waters, seeking exile rather than death.
“And a hide, to wrap it in? Or have ye brought your own?”
“A hide too. But I’ll choose it.” Makina nodded at the skins hanging against the back wall, as precious here as copper and iron in the old world. She watched the woman pull down the hides and begin holding them up, keeping her hands still at her sides where they wanted to wipe themselves reflexively on her furs. She’d been in Portown all of five hours and already she was eager to leave. To get back to the caldera, or to the ice even, to the peace of a long walk with just a dragon and the lull’s rhythm for company. This place reminded her too much of the old world, as though some stink of it had carried with the boats in the harbor on their fortnight journey.
“That one,” she said, spying a black-speckled hide with only a few holes and most of its fur intact. This was what she needed most—you could survive on caldera vegetables and unsweetened dragon blood, if need be, but neither scales nor ironworks could replace leather. Another irony of the ice: they had come here to escape the old world, and yet they still needed it. And now that dragon bones had been shown to cure the Blackness, the old world needed them, too.
The merchant clucked to herself. “You know your hides.”
“My father,” Makina said, surprising herself. “He was a tanner. Before.”
The worn woman nodded as she worked. To most people on the ice, before was before. No need to go into details. For their generation, at least. Kaden’s would be different. She hoped.
“Eighty-three imperials, then, unless ye were needing something else?”
“That will be it,” Makina said, pulling coins from the pocket sewn inside her furs. “Have you heard speak of the Congress this eve?”
“Oh aye.” The merchant laid the hide over a table and placed the sugar loaves inside. “Down at the stockman's banquet house. Powerful foolish idea, if you ask me, but then I'm just an old merchant, and I know you do have it harder out on the ice.”
Makina took her time counting out coins. It was much the same sentiment she'd heard from the pen keepers and bone traders and the women tending stockpots, a mixture of sympathy and disapproval. Except for the fools who said they were going, who had that zealous light in their eyes, as though they had discovered something new in the history of the world. It was the light that came before the beaten, dogged one she saw in the merchant’s gaze. The idealist before the martyr.
“We surely do,” Makina said, choosing her words carefully. She was here to gather information as much as she was supplies, and she’d long ago learned good information was not to be caught with blunt force. “And some changes to the taxation structure wouldn't hurt, but I worry for the ones that go. The empress doesn't look kindly on dissent.”
The merchants pursed her lips, sliding Makina’s pile of coins across the plank and beginning to recount. “Powers send it won't come to any harm, with a member of House Dukress in attendance.”
Makina only barely controlled the impulse to glance up, betraying her true interest. The Empress had ears everywhere, even in alleys like this. Even in women like this one.
“House Dukress?” she asked after a moment, idly. “What do they have to do with the Congress?”
“Quite a bit, it seems,” the merchant said, then clucked her tongue. “Eighty-three clink indeed. I thank you. Unless ye wanted a length of rawhide to keep this tied?”
The bundle would hold together just fine once it was on the sled, but if that was the woman’s price for information, so be it. A woman who sold information was unlikely to also be an imperial ear. Makina set another few coins down. “That would be useful, thanks. You were saying?”
“Alamina Dukress,” the merchant answered, sliding a cord under the bundle and beginning an intricate knot. “Got off the boat just this morning, though you had to know what you were looking for. My man figures she wants to champion the cause, use it as a wedge against the Chanans.”
Chanan was the ruling house, the empress’s house, and had been since before the war. “Rumors,” Makina said, waving a hand. “Unless you saw them?”
“See a lot of things, this close to the water. Packet of chili seeds to warm you out there?”
Another bid for money. Makina dearly missed the heat of her native foods, and this would be a way to justify the expense… but she didn’t want to look too interested. She remembered the training on blending with local societies, the warnings against actions or body language giving away intent, even when your words did not.
Makina smiled apologetically, taking the bundle. “No thanks. These years on the ice have taken away my taste for spice.” She would check this woman’s information against someone else’s. She hadn’t heard of a noble daughter so far today, but it would change everything if it were true. And maybe Dukress had wanted to enter covertly.
The merchant eyed her, scrunching her chin like a farmer sizing up an ox. “Saw her myself,” she said eventually, as though deciding she was strong enough to pull a plow. “Stepping from the ship just over there.” She thrust her nose towards the docks, where a high-prowed vessel floated a worn passenger scow, unloading wide-eyed migrants into a waiting crowd of porters and merchants. The ship looked noble.
“Thank you,” Makina said. The woman had decided to trust her, she who had almost certainly been on the other side of the war. But then, that was before. And Makina was on no one’s side now, except her own. And Kaden’s.
She wanted to ask more questions, to be absolutely certain it was Alamina Dukress the shopkeeper had seen, but her gut told her no. She had shown too much interest as it was, and absolute certainty was impossible anyway. That had been a hard truth to learn. You didn’t know, you couldn’t know, and yet you had to act. She adjusted her furs, took up her bundle, and stepped from the stall’s highboard into the muddy streets.
And now it was time to act. She had had every intention of following through with Kaden's plan, of staying away from the congress and just learning what she could from the townspeople, but the situation had changed. A member of House Dukress attending would lend the congress an air of credibility. Imperial hands might still be there, but violence was unlikely to break out—it would be seen as an attack from House Chanan against House Dukress, and the empress had been careful to avoid those since the end of the war. Open attacks, anyway.
A dragon team passed by, pulling a sled of bones, clawed feet hissing in the mud and leaving dry footprints in their wake. Not only would the Dukress’s presence mean the congress was safer, it also meant that what was discussed would be more important—and more likely to be garbled through hearsay afterward. The Dukress would be careful to speak exactly what she intended, because word of it would reach the capital and be taken as House position. The doe-eyed rebels, on the other hand, would just be excited to have an old world noble attend, and would inflate everything she said in their stories the next day.
Makina reached the pen where she was keeping her dragon, its lull beating just slightly out of time with the town's massive one booming from a tower in the center of the city. As she did, she felt that old shift inside, the decision-making that for her had always been more guts than brains. Much as it was still dangerous, and she’d come with no intentions of getting anywhere near the congress, she needed to go.
The decision stirred a lot inside her—fear, yes, but also excitement at the prospect of a little danger, after so many years playing it safe. That, and a chance to use some skills she hadn’t in a long time.
Yes, she would go to the congress. But not as Makina Stalksong.
