Dragonwitch (preview)
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chapter one
Kayo always had a song in her throat—happy, mournful, or brooding like the coastal cliffs she had grown up on, following the family’s herd of horned sheep. The one she hummed now was quick and anxious—a dance she had heard at twelveday festival—but she kept it low, under the creak of wagon wheel and the lazy conversation of her armed escort.
They had offered her a place on the wagon’s board—she was not under arrest, not officially—but she walked with the oxen instead, one hand on Buffigal’s back, his fur sodden in the drizzle. He was the only animal her family had left, but her father hadn’t hesitated to sell him to the mage and his guard, when one of their team had turned a hoof on the rutted path leading to their farmstead. It had been a knife in Kayo’s heart, not only seeing the last of their animals go, but the callous way her father had parted with the ox.
A lot like he had parted with her: a calculated decision, a profit to be made. Nothing personal about it.
Kayo rounded another turn on the steep road, trying to feel as content as Buffigal did in the bond: he missed his partner cow, Meizhou, but the work felt good and his belly was full. The danger had passed. Kayo hadn’t even lost any of her family, and the life ahead promised a full belly so long as she could do the work, but still she hummed the anxious jig. Anxious because she kept waiting for the conversation above her to break off, and the men to realize she was just a dumb shepherdess. That they’d come halfway across the island for the wrong girl, no matter what she’d done, or what they imagined her capable of.
No matter what dragons they thought she controlled.
Ahead, the highland fog parted to reveal a mossy stone gate arching over the roadway, ideograms stained with age but carved deep: Ivory Crow Academy. Behind it, pagoda towers and sloped tile roofs loomed out of the gray. A shiver ran through her, despite the good wool on her back. She had only been past Kokudai village three times, and two of them as a babe. She’d never thought to see the heart of the island’s power, or the source of its famed military commanders, much less be welcomed there. Have the academy offer to rebuy the herd of sheep the dragon’s attack had destroyed, in exchange for her apprenticeship. Most students had to bribe, bargain, or train their whole lives to get in.
All she had to do was explain how she had bonded a dragon.
If only she knew herself.
“There she is!” a voice called through the fog, followed by a tall figure in the long, pale robes of the academy’s mages. Almost the color of her flock’s wool—before they were seared black, anyway.
It took Kayo a second to realize the man was talking about her. Talking to her. She snatched her hand off Buffigal’s back. “Ah, yes. Master.”
“Just Ganjei, if you please.” His smile was as wide as the arms he swept out in a bow. “I wanted to be the first to welcome you to Ivory Crow. I trust your journey has been well?”
He glanced at the men on the wagon board as he did, and Kayo read more in the glance than she had in all his words and actions. Mistrust, and implication, and a sudden fire like her father’s anger after a market day, threatening to burst alight at the slightest spark.
They vanished as he turned back to her, offering his hand with another smile. Kayo started—the skin there was jet black with white patches, like the orcas she sometimes saw off the headlands, and shone like wet leather. But of course—he must be one of the mages who could bind creatures to cards, and this was his magesign.
Kayo took it, resisting the urge to shudder at his slick touch. With their entire flock dead, it was this or let her family starve.
“Calling a dragon,” Ganjei mused. “Or not just one, I hear? Two of them? Amazing. Simply amazing.”
Kayo cleared her throat, missing the feel of Buffigan’s fur. She reached inside for the comfort of his bond. “I—yes. It was two dragons. Or, the first one was attacking, and then the second—”
She trailed off, tongue binding up like it always did at times like this. Like she needed a song to get it out. What did this mage want to hear? And how could she lie long enough for the academy to make good on buying her family a new flock? She could just imagine her father, sitting in their cottage with nothing to tend and no one to blame except her, and the younger sister she’d left behind.
“All very confusing, I’m sure. You’d—never bonded one before?” he asked, glancing at her with an arched eyebrow.
Shit. What could she say? Lying had never come easily. “Ah, no, sir. Master. Though I have bonded many of our animals. Most of them, really, and some of the ones in the woods…” She trailed off. A man who called killer whales with the wave of a card was not going to be impressed by bonds with sheep and squirrels. What was she thinking?
“I am told you are quite the faunalex, yes.” That was their term for people who could bond animals, but not tie them to cards. “And self-taught?”
“Yes, master. Or, my mother taught my sister and I, and her mother before her, but never—”
Master Ganjei nodded, steering her toward a long stone stairway. “We Yutaki are strong in bonds, trained or untrained. It’s why Ivory Crow has held its own against the larger academies all these years. And there is no shame in being a faunalex. But a bond with a dragon.” He shook his head. “You know no one has done it three centuries? Not since Elder Shori, and that only with a hatchling?”
“Yes, master.” This was one of the few things she had gathered from listening to the men’s conversation on the two day walk here. That no mage in living memory had done it, not least because the academies had banned it on pain of death. Those who tried despite the ban had either failed or been killed in the process, usually when the would-be leviacasts stole hatchlings and their mothers came for them.
Kayo’s stomach twisted, and she unconsciously patted the heavy lump inside her robes.
They reached the base of the stairs, and Ganjei waved the wagon away. “Was it intentional, on your part?” he asked, glancing behind him as he waved her up the stairs. “The bonding?”
Kayo swallowed, tongue wanting to bind up again. The memory was painful, but she’d been over it enough to know what had happened. Or rather, what hadn’t happened, no matter what it looked like. But that was nothing she could tell him.
“It—was a blur, master. The first dragon—the bluish one—had already killed most of our flock, and I could see it was heading for our house, and the village beyond it—”
“And that’s when you called the black?” Ganjei asked, pressing closer to her. Like an orca closing on its prey.
“Yes. I guess.”
“The power,” he muttered, not seeming to hear her. They topped the stairs and came out in a small courtyard surrounded by stone buildings.
“Would you say it felt more like a volcast? Or lexcast? A social lexcast, maybe?”
“I—” Don’t have any idea what those are was probably not the answer he was looking for. But like her father on a bad day, Master Ganjei didn’t seem like he was here to listen, no matter how many questions he asked. Which made things easier for her.
“Excuse me,” Ganjei said, seeming to come to himself. “You’ve just arrived, and here I am peppering you with questions. Plenty of time for that! Plenty of time. These will be your accommodations, for the time being.”
He waved at the courtyard, and Kayo frowned. She’d spent plenty of nights on the cliffs, especially in the dry season, but even there you wanted some kind of shelter against the wind. The stones here were swept clean, the gaps between the heavy stone buildings too big to huddle between.
“This one,” Ganjei said, leading her to one of the big buildings, where a young woman in white robes stood by the door.
“The—whole building?” she asked. It was bigger than their cottage and manger put together.
Ganjei smiled. “For the time being, yes. A faunalex of your level deserves better, but it’s been such short notice. And Windlee Courtyard is a bit more… defensible than the rest of the lodgings.”
“Defensible?”
“Yes. That’s why Adjunct Eiren is here, too. You’ll understand that not everyone here has taken kindly to the idea of a dragonlex coming to the academy.”
She nodded—the mage and his guard had talked about it on the walk back. Of fears that she was connected to the recent string of dragon attacks. Or that the attacking dragon would be back, as they often were. And then there were the settlements up the coast, that the blue dragon had destroyed, before the black came. She doubted any of them would be excited about a human involved with the attack, in whatever form. If any of them had survived. The blue had ripped entire cliffsides down in its rage.
“Yes,” she said, glancing at the adjunct by the door. Would the girl really protect her, if someone attacked?
Ganjei swept the door open. “The chances are slim, of course. There are few outside our walls who would dare to bring violence within them, and everyone here understands the power your skills could bring us. The prestige. Still, I would keep the door barred while you’re inside.”
Kayo stepped in, eyes going wide at the glassed windows, raised beds and iron stove. Kokudai’s mayor didn’t even live in a house this nice, and he had seven children. Prestige, indeed.
The mage followed her in. “I’ll leave you to get comfortable. Eiren can familiarize you with the schedule when you’re ready.” He paused. “If you do remember any details of your bonding—of anything unusual you may have done in that moment, or anything new you notice in the bond—don’t hesitate to call for me.”
Kayo caught the emphasis on the last word, and despite her overwhelm at her surroundings, and her worries about being discovered a fake, or keeping the lump in her pocket secret, she understood what Master Ganjei wanted from her: power. Not only to learn how to bond a dragon, but to be the first to do it. To craft dragon cards, no doubt, since that was always a mage’s aim. Give him that, and her position at the academy would be safe.
Or since she couldn’t, lead him along that path long enough, anyway, that the academy made good on its promise. The blue dragon’s wrath would be nothing compared to her father’s, if she came home empty-handed. Like the wood-headed girl you are, he’d said as she left.
Ganjei departed after a few more promises, and Kayo breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut. Alone at last. In a strange place and an even stranger situation, but solitude, at least, felt like a familiar robe pulled around her. She reached for the flock out of habit, but found no one in the bond but Brannigan. The ox was content, at least, unsaddled from the wagon and given a paddock with fresh hay.
She reached out, too, for the other beast she’d brought with her, curled into the inside of her robe pocket, but still felt nothing there. Kayo barred the door then, then reached in and pulled the creature out, skin hard as stone but warm as a rock left in the sun. It raised its head and regarded her with coal black eyes: a tiny, perfect dragon.
They had offered her a place on the wagon’s board—she was not under arrest, not officially—but she walked with the oxen instead, one hand on Buffigal’s back, his fur sodden in the drizzle. He was the only animal her family had left, but her father hadn’t hesitated to sell him to the mage and his guard, when one of their team had turned a hoof on the rutted path leading to their farmstead. It had been a knife in Kayo’s heart, not only seeing the last of their animals go, but the callous way her father had parted with the ox.
A lot like he had parted with her: a calculated decision, a profit to be made. Nothing personal about it.
Kayo rounded another turn on the steep road, trying to feel as content as Buffigal did in the bond: he missed his partner cow, Meizhou, but the work felt good and his belly was full. The danger had passed. Kayo hadn’t even lost any of her family, and the life ahead promised a full belly so long as she could do the work, but still she hummed the anxious jig. Anxious because she kept waiting for the conversation above her to break off, and the men to realize she was just a dumb shepherdess. That they’d come halfway across the island for the wrong girl, no matter what she’d done, or what they imagined her capable of.
No matter what dragons they thought she controlled.
Ahead, the highland fog parted to reveal a mossy stone gate arching over the roadway, ideograms stained with age but carved deep: Ivory Crow Academy. Behind it, pagoda towers and sloped tile roofs loomed out of the gray. A shiver ran through her, despite the good wool on her back. She had only been past Kokudai village three times, and two of them as a babe. She’d never thought to see the heart of the island’s power, or the source of its famed military commanders, much less be welcomed there. Have the academy offer to rebuy the herd of sheep the dragon’s attack had destroyed, in exchange for her apprenticeship. Most students had to bribe, bargain, or train their whole lives to get in.
All she had to do was explain how she had bonded a dragon.
If only she knew herself.
“There she is!” a voice called through the fog, followed by a tall figure in the long, pale robes of the academy’s mages. Almost the color of her flock’s wool—before they were seared black, anyway.
It took Kayo a second to realize the man was talking about her. Talking to her. She snatched her hand off Buffigal’s back. “Ah, yes. Master.”
“Just Ganjei, if you please.” His smile was as wide as the arms he swept out in a bow. “I wanted to be the first to welcome you to Ivory Crow. I trust your journey has been well?”
He glanced at the men on the wagon board as he did, and Kayo read more in the glance than she had in all his words and actions. Mistrust, and implication, and a sudden fire like her father’s anger after a market day, threatening to burst alight at the slightest spark.
They vanished as he turned back to her, offering his hand with another smile. Kayo started—the skin there was jet black with white patches, like the orcas she sometimes saw off the headlands, and shone like wet leather. But of course—he must be one of the mages who could bind creatures to cards, and this was his magesign.
Kayo took it, resisting the urge to shudder at his slick touch. With their entire flock dead, it was this or let her family starve.
“Calling a dragon,” Ganjei mused. “Or not just one, I hear? Two of them? Amazing. Simply amazing.”
Kayo cleared her throat, missing the feel of Buffigan’s fur. She reached inside for the comfort of his bond. “I—yes. It was two dragons. Or, the first one was attacking, and then the second—”
She trailed off, tongue binding up like it always did at times like this. Like she needed a song to get it out. What did this mage want to hear? And how could she lie long enough for the academy to make good on buying her family a new flock? She could just imagine her father, sitting in their cottage with nothing to tend and no one to blame except her, and the younger sister she’d left behind.
“All very confusing, I’m sure. You’d—never bonded one before?” he asked, glancing at her with an arched eyebrow.
Shit. What could she say? Lying had never come easily. “Ah, no, sir. Master. Though I have bonded many of our animals. Most of them, really, and some of the ones in the woods…” She trailed off. A man who called killer whales with the wave of a card was not going to be impressed by bonds with sheep and squirrels. What was she thinking?
“I am told you are quite the faunalex, yes.” That was their term for people who could bond animals, but not tie them to cards. “And self-taught?”
“Yes, master. Or, my mother taught my sister and I, and her mother before her, but never—”
Master Ganjei nodded, steering her toward a long stone stairway. “We Yutaki are strong in bonds, trained or untrained. It’s why Ivory Crow has held its own against the larger academies all these years. And there is no shame in being a faunalex. But a bond with a dragon.” He shook his head. “You know no one has done it three centuries? Not since Elder Shori, and that only with a hatchling?”
“Yes, master.” This was one of the few things she had gathered from listening to the men’s conversation on the two day walk here. That no mage in living memory had done it, not least because the academies had banned it on pain of death. Those who tried despite the ban had either failed or been killed in the process, usually when the would-be leviacasts stole hatchlings and their mothers came for them.
Kayo’s stomach twisted, and she unconsciously patted the heavy lump inside her robes.
They reached the base of the stairs, and Ganjei waved the wagon away. “Was it intentional, on your part?” he asked, glancing behind him as he waved her up the stairs. “The bonding?”
Kayo swallowed, tongue wanting to bind up again. The memory was painful, but she’d been over it enough to know what had happened. Or rather, what hadn’t happened, no matter what it looked like. But that was nothing she could tell him.
“It—was a blur, master. The first dragon—the bluish one—had already killed most of our flock, and I could see it was heading for our house, and the village beyond it—”
“And that’s when you called the black?” Ganjei asked, pressing closer to her. Like an orca closing on its prey.
“Yes. I guess.”
“The power,” he muttered, not seeming to hear her. They topped the stairs and came out in a small courtyard surrounded by stone buildings.
“Would you say it felt more like a volcast? Or lexcast? A social lexcast, maybe?”
“I—” Don’t have any idea what those are was probably not the answer he was looking for. But like her father on a bad day, Master Ganjei didn’t seem like he was here to listen, no matter how many questions he asked. Which made things easier for her.
“Excuse me,” Ganjei said, seeming to come to himself. “You’ve just arrived, and here I am peppering you with questions. Plenty of time for that! Plenty of time. These will be your accommodations, for the time being.”
He waved at the courtyard, and Kayo frowned. She’d spent plenty of nights on the cliffs, especially in the dry season, but even there you wanted some kind of shelter against the wind. The stones here were swept clean, the gaps between the heavy stone buildings too big to huddle between.
“This one,” Ganjei said, leading her to one of the big buildings, where a young woman in white robes stood by the door.
“The—whole building?” she asked. It was bigger than their cottage and manger put together.
Ganjei smiled. “For the time being, yes. A faunalex of your level deserves better, but it’s been such short notice. And Windlee Courtyard is a bit more… defensible than the rest of the lodgings.”
“Defensible?”
“Yes. That’s why Adjunct Eiren is here, too. You’ll understand that not everyone here has taken kindly to the idea of a dragonlex coming to the academy.”
She nodded—the mage and his guard had talked about it on the walk back. Of fears that she was connected to the recent string of dragon attacks. Or that the attacking dragon would be back, as they often were. And then there were the settlements up the coast, that the blue dragon had destroyed, before the black came. She doubted any of them would be excited about a human involved with the attack, in whatever form. If any of them had survived. The blue had ripped entire cliffsides down in its rage.
“Yes,” she said, glancing at the adjunct by the door. Would the girl really protect her, if someone attacked?
Ganjei swept the door open. “The chances are slim, of course. There are few outside our walls who would dare to bring violence within them, and everyone here understands the power your skills could bring us. The prestige. Still, I would keep the door barred while you’re inside.”
Kayo stepped in, eyes going wide at the glassed windows, raised beds and iron stove. Kokudai’s mayor didn’t even live in a house this nice, and he had seven children. Prestige, indeed.
The mage followed her in. “I’ll leave you to get comfortable. Eiren can familiarize you with the schedule when you’re ready.” He paused. “If you do remember any details of your bonding—of anything unusual you may have done in that moment, or anything new you notice in the bond—don’t hesitate to call for me.”
Kayo caught the emphasis on the last word, and despite her overwhelm at her surroundings, and her worries about being discovered a fake, or keeping the lump in her pocket secret, she understood what Master Ganjei wanted from her: power. Not only to learn how to bond a dragon, but to be the first to do it. To craft dragon cards, no doubt, since that was always a mage’s aim. Give him that, and her position at the academy would be safe.
Or since she couldn’t, lead him along that path long enough, anyway, that the academy made good on its promise. The blue dragon’s wrath would be nothing compared to her father’s, if she came home empty-handed. Like the wood-headed girl you are, he’d said as she left.
Ganjei departed after a few more promises, and Kayo breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut. Alone at last. In a strange place and an even stranger situation, but solitude, at least, felt like a familiar robe pulled around her. She reached for the flock out of habit, but found no one in the bond but Brannigan. The ox was content, at least, unsaddled from the wagon and given a paddock with fresh hay.
She reached out, too, for the other beast she’d brought with her, curled into the inside of her robe pocket, but still felt nothing there. Kayo barred the door then, then reached in and pulled the creature out, skin hard as stone but warm as a rock left in the sun. It raised its head and regarded her with coal black eyes: a tiny, perfect dragon.