Shatterwing: Dragon Wine 1 Page 4

  The first houses were all in order, as if the inhabitants had packed up in an organized fashion and left. On the next level, he backed out of a house in the Sigum family node. There he found the piles of dust he had seen elsewhere, but there were also piles of bones, which he feared belonged to his city brethren. Propelled as if chased by the ghosts of his kin, he shot out of the Sigum node and headed down to the lower levels. There he found the same story, dust and bones. All the hearths were cold and the homes empty, and in his wake were his own footprints in the thick dust.

  With the last of his strength failing, he took the stairs to the upper levels, cautiously heading for the Barr node, where all his extended family had lived. The houses looked in good shape, though the windows were dark. Here too the phosphorescent shuwai hanging from the roofs had grown unruly, as if untended for many years. In the central courtyard were bones. These could not be mistaken. They were the bones of his kin, perhaps dead for hundreds of years—a thousand. He did not know how long he had slept and could not guess. Staring at the remains of his nearest kin with a black wall of incomprehension looming over him, he sagged to the ground. What a cruel punishment to go to sleep one day and wake up the next to find everyone he knew gone and his people’s great work diminished and forsaken.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dragon Fodder

  In the dark of predawn the air was damp, scented with sulphur and quite still. Salinda rose early to prepare for the day’s work. She let Brill linger abed as long as she could, then nudged him awake.

  “Can you stand? We must be on our way.”

  The whole landscape was hushed around them, but she harbored a lingering fear that the Inspector would come for Brill as he had the day before. The boy could not withstand such harsh treatment again so soon … or perhaps ever again. Yet his resilience surprised her. That something she sensed about him was still there; a spark, a longing, a drive for good shone out of him.

  It wasn’t the first time that brutal man had taken an unhealthy interest in a prisoner. Fond memories of Danton, another young and handsome rebel, came to mind. They had both been attached to Mez, working among the vines. They had even assisted him in the early stages of fermentation when it came to make the vintage. The Inspector had decided, for whatever reason, to torture Danton, and harass him again and again, so much so that even Mez had agreed it was dangerous for Danton to remain. Mez thought of a way to help him escape. It was a difficult decision and one not without risk to them all, but necessary if Danton were to live. How she and Danton had argued about his departure. But Salinda would not leave the vineyard to go with him as she had known she could not abandon Mez. She had promised to carry the cadre after the old man died, and though it pained her, that duty was more important than her love for Danton.

  Brill hadn’t moved from the blanket, though his irises reflected light so she knew he was awake. The sun’s rays lightened the sky around them. She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder gently. “It’s time.”

  Launching himself out of his blanket, surprising her, he picked up the stone pail. “I’m ready.”

  She nodded in the direction of her hut, to the platter on the stoop. “There is a heel of bread there—you can eat it on the way.”

  They strode through other prisoners’ allotments as they headed for the central spoke that would allow them easier access to the cistern. Ragged prisoners skulked around vines; some raised their heads and greeted them with tired voices. Others didn’t waste their energy by looking up.

  Pale amethyst light bathed the vines, brightening as the sun crept higher in the sky as they walked. Many times Salinda assisted the young prince as the heavy stone pail, along with his chains, weighed him down. “How do you do it?” he asked her. “You look half-starved yet you have strength and stamina.”

  Feeling self-conscious she looked briefly at her arms while she pushed the barrow. Her skin was sun-darkened, almost nut brown, though still smooth. She was on the thin side, though she was healthy enough. “Perhaps, in time, you will have such strength yourself … Oh look,” she said, pausing to cradle a large bunch of grapes in her hand. “How beautiful it is.”

  “It’s a bunch of grapes,” he replied, resting the pail by his foot.

  “Yes, it’s a bunch of grapes—but a perfect bunch of the blood variety. The symmetry is exact, the color will deepen and the berries will swell. It will make the highest grade of wine.”

  “What would a prisoner know of beauty?” he scoffed. “And even if you could appreciate such a thing, it is out of place here.”

  “No, not so out of place. It’s all around you.” She let the bunch go, sighed, and set off again.

  They headed away from the staging area, toward the very edge of the outer rim of the vineyard, where cultivation stopped and the plains began. They reached the central spoke and continued on. The wheel of the barrow groaned when it hit a patch of uneven ground. Brill’s breathing sounded loud in her ears. A quick glance revealed a face clenched with concentration as he managed the chains and the pail. Then the vines came to an abrupt end.

  Salinda and Brill stood on the edge, sheltered by the surrounding vines. The plains spread out before them, ochre and pink in the morning light. Ahead and to their left was a large, open-topped stone cistern, surrounded by a few tufts of burned grass and ash-colored mud. About two hundred paces to their right were stakes of wood, some snapped in two. The feeding area was haloed with fresh dried bones and the flesh of killed carcasses. The stench of rot wafted over them.

  Brill gagged and lowered the pail to the ground. A few burden beasts and other livestock, past their prime, were tethered to the posts, bleating and mewling their distress. Fortunately, there were no old prisoners tied up, waiting for death. Salinda squatted beneath the shelter of the vines, using the barrow to keep her hidden. Brill crouched behind her, his stomach grumbling.

  She half-turned toward him. “Take a vine leaf and chew on it. It will ease your hunger pangs.”

  He eyed the leaf in front of his face, hesitated and then shoved it into his mouth.

  “Better?” she asked a few minutes later.

  “Perhaps … maybe,” he said, chewing the leaf. “What is this place?”

  Salinda no longer heard his stomach rumbling. “The cistern. Where the dragons are fed.”

  “Oh, Magol preserve me. Real dragons eating. Why? Are you dust mad?” He gestured to the cistern and the livestock.

  Salinda surveyed the scene before her. “There is a delicate balance here. I’m not sure how it evolved but it works. We live very close to the breeding grounds. If we didn’t give the dragons food they would eat the prisoners and then there would be no laborers. The bulls mark their territory.” She pointed to the cistern. “Even the young ones will spray and the cistern is placed to catch their urine.”

  His face screwed up in horror. “Dragon piss? What do you need that for?”

  Pressing her lips together she tried not to smile. “I told you we need the dragons to survive. The urine has properties, one of which is to keep the vines disease free.”

  Brill swallowed. “And we have to go out there?”

  “Yes—” The flap of wings and the pungent smell of sulphur made her draw back further into the shelter of the vines. The dragons had come to feed. They were huge crusty beasts whose scales reflected sunlight in shades of green and mauve. Good, a male among them, she thought. Fresh urine was better than stale. Clawed feet ripped the burden beasts and other livestock apart. The sounds of blood slurping and flesh rending echoed around them. She could hear Brill’s labored breathing, could smell the fear in his sweat. Before they departed, a large male dragon pissed in and around the cistern, marking his territory.

  As the beat of wings faded, the bleating of a lone burden beast filled the air. It raked its claws across the soil and covered its coat in reddish dust, as if trying to distance itself from the blood and bones surrounding it.

  Fetid air disturbed by the passing of the dragons sent waves
of sulphur and acid stench in among the vines. Salinda crawled out, searched the sky and returned to her barrow. “Come, we must be quick.”

  Brill edged out, dragging the pail with him, and followed her as she dodged pools of simmering dragon piss while keeping a ready eye on the sky. Luckily, there were stones in the mud close to the cistern to protect her bare feet. “Quick, the pail.”

  He could barely lift the stone pail. Salinda leaned down and took the handle and rested the base on the edge of the cistern. “My gloves,” she said, hand held out behind her to receive them. He put them in her waiting hand, and she slipped her fingers in. Then carefully and slowly she dipped the pail into the steaming urine and poured the liquid gently into the barrow. Four buckets later the barrow was half-full.

  “We won’t have time for more,” she said, eyes scanning the sky. “Quick. We must hurry.” She pointed to the ridge of the Fire Ranges. Dark shapes flew, growing perceptibly larger as they watched. One was closer than the rest.

  Brill caught the gloves she tossed. The pail she laid on its side in the barrow itself, bringing the translucent liquid a little closer to the rim. “Run,” she said tensely, her voice revealing the first sign of panic. He didn’t hesitate. He looped his chains around his arm and aimed for the grapevines. She was close behind, going as fast as she could without spilling the urine out of the barrow.

  The snap of beating wings grew louder and the disturbed air washed over her. Brill glanced over his shoulder, a strangled cry breaking from his throat. Outstretched claws loomed closer. “Go! Don’t look back,” she yelled at him. Then she slowed and ducked under the barrow, hoping the downdraft from the dragon’s wings wouldn’t splash the liquid over the sides. She held her breath, praying she hadn’t overfilled it.

  Brill dived into the vines and shuffled around on all fours to see what was happening. She saw him peering out. The dragon had lifted back up and circled clumsily around. It had to work hard to stay aloft this close to the ground. Salinda huddled beneath the barrow, partially hidden by its shadow, hoping the scent of the urine would disguise her presence.

  The winged animal gave a whingeing grunt. Peering at the feeding post, Salinda saw the dragon snatch the one remaining burden beast in its claws and rip the creature’s head off. Blood spurted over the dragon’s snout and then it chewed the torso in half. Chunks of hide and hooves landed nearby with a sequence of thumps. After an audible gulp the dragon, which had the purple-tinged neck scales of a young male, flapped its wings and lurched away into the sky.

  Salinda made the last leg to the grapevines and kept trundling past the young rebel. Brill scurried out from under the vines and hurried after her. “Wing dust! … How can you just keep going? You were nearly taken by that dragon.”

  Sparing him a quick glance, she said, “I’ve experienced worse. My husband was a beast far more frightening than that.”

  She walked on. Brill struggled to keep up. “I’ve seen the scars … but that dragon nearly …”

  Her pace slowed and she wondered if it was worth telling him. Mez had never really wanted to know. It was in the past and that was that. “The lashing my husband gave me was bad, but compared to the other things he did to me, and to those close to him, it was a small thing. When it was over the pain faded and my flesh healed. But I will always remember what I saw … what I felt.”

  “Did you kill him? Is that why you are here?” Brill panted out his questions as he strove to keep up.

  “No.” She blinked, put down the barrow and turned to face him. “Why would you think so?”

  Brill shrugged. “Well … I thought he might have deserved it.”

  “No. To kill is something I couldn’t do … He caught me red-handed.”

  Brill’s eyebrow rose. “Another man?”

  She shook her head, gazing away into the vines. “No. Not another man, another cause. I was the leader of the rebels in the barony.”

  “Really? Which barony?” His eyes glinted with excitement.

  She sighed. Now she regretted saying anything, though she admitted she should have known that Brill would be interested. “Never mind—it was so long ago. You must forget those causes now. That belongs to another life.”

  Brill shook his head in denial, and his fringe of dark blond hair fell over his forehead to shadow one eye. “I want to know … please. You must have trained too. Unarmed combat?”

  She nodded, but realized he wasn’t going to stop badgering her. With a sigh she said, “My husband was the Baron of Sartell. I was sold into marriage by my family at the age of thirteen. By the age of fourteen, I was fighting against his rule.” She spat on the ground. “Many regimes have come and gone since then.”

  “But he’s gone now, I think. I’m not sure. Many titles were redistributed. You may be a rich widow now.”

  She was shaking her head. “No, he’s not dead. Nothing can kill that man. Even if he was dead I can’t inherit. By law, my treason and imprisonment made him a free man. Over the years, my family sent word to me that he took my younger sister to wife and, when she died, he took the youngest sister. I haven’t heard from them for five years or so. I think my parents are dead, too, now. Perhaps he got to them as well.”

  “Well … you are free of him then. You could escape and make a new life.”

  Salinda turned to look him in the face. “Prince Brill, I am already free in a manner of speaking. The life I lead has its reward. Can you not feel it? Life grows here. All that makes us who we are is written here in these vines, in these grapes and in the wine.”

  He slapped the gloves against his thigh, glancing around him without really seeing. The chains clinked with his movement. He gazed at them and the red marks and bruising from the shackles and said, “No. There is nothing here but misery and suffering.”

  Tossing her braid over her shoulder, Salinda picked up the barrow handles and began to push ahead. “You felt the power of dragon wine yourself. How do you explain your rapid healing?”

  Brill frowned. “I can’t. I do know I don’t have to stay here and grow grapes, though. I can buy dragon wine anywhere. You can’t want to stay here.”

  “That’s not the point,” she said. “If the dragon wine is not made it can’t be bought.”

  Brill’s eyes never left the green tracks of vines. “The Inspector?”

  There was a hitch in her stride. That was a sore point. Without Mez, Salinda was afraid of the Inspector. Despite the gift of the cadre, Salinda did not know if she could handle him. “I can manage. I have work to do; nothing is more important than that.”

  Brill kicked at the dark soil and followed along behind her sullenly. “And when you’re old, too old to work? What then?”

  She paused and glanced at him again. “I will join Mez beneath the vines. You will bury me there.”

  As she spoke, something seemed to catch alight in his eyes. “Not me. I’ll be gone or dead before then.”

  Salinda quickened her pace until they reached their own allotment. The turmoil in her mind as truth, fear and duty warred within her rendered her unable to speak. With her ladle, she drew water from her ceramic urn and half-filled the pail. Retrieving her gloves from where Brill had tossed them, she added the dragon urine to it.

  Sharp, tangy fumes rose and her eyes began to sting as she poured in the urine. Salinda drew out a handcrafted spray tool with a nozzle, a bladder and a pump. She filled it and then headed to her vines, pumping the solution onto the green leaves as she walked down each row.

  Brill followed along behind her, the chinking sound of his chains accompanying his every move. His expletive made her pause. “Wing dust! You’re putting dragon piss on the grapes as well?” he said, half-outraged, half-unbelieving.

  Truly he was city born. “Yes, remember I told you? The mineral content kills the fungus. This solution cures the vines as well as hastening the ripening process. The grapes will expand after this, deepen in color and make the sweetest dragon wine. It will be a good year.”

  Bri
ll clenched his brow and drew his mouth into a grim line. “How can you worry about how good the wine will be? You’ll get none of it, except the swill that’s left after they rinse the casks.”

  With a shrug, she replied, “Nevertheless, this is what’s important. Without this,” she gestured to the vineyard, “all would be for naught.”

  Brill threw himself on the ground and rubbed his fists through his hair. “You’re crazy. Freedom is everything. Who cares about the grapes or the wine or even the dragons?” She finished spraying in silence while Brill sat brooding. Without another word, he followed her back to camp and watched as she made up another batch of spray. Then he asked, “Why do you use the gloves and the ceramic ladle? Is it more virulent than the dragon dung?”

  She spared him a glance. “Yes. A pure drop of this will eat wood, dissolve metal. Only the vines can tolerate it, diluted of course.”

  He stared at her dumbly. “Why? I want to know why you think this is so important. There’s a link here—something I’m not seeing.”

  Her spray forgotten, she came and knelt in front of him and held his gaze. “The dragon wine—it contains something that keeps us alive. That something comes from the dragons themselves. They came when the world split thousands of years ago. It is only through our connection to them that we live.”

  Brill broke eye contact and shook his head in denial. “No. We’re not dependent on them. They eat human flesh and must be destroyed. You are deluded. If that is what you think then you deserve to be buried here when you die.”