I wasn’t laughing like Dag, like that giddy relief when the pain-bane finally kicks in, but I’d almost forgotten all our problems, watching Hereyta and Sippy having such a good time. And then Dag suddenly shut off like he was a door that had been closed. There was a little breeze, and between the sound of that, and Sippy’s panting (and thudding back to the ground), and Dag’s laughter, I hadn’t noticed anything else. But there was another dragon in the field with us. Fancy not having noticed a dragon. But I was fully occupied watching our dragon.
This one was a kind of midnight blue, and it was only about two-thirds the size of Hereyta, which was still plenty big enough. There was a tiny person tearing along beside it with his hand on its ankle, the way Dag had had his hand on Hereyta’s. They’d come out of the hsa after us. It was half rousing its wings as I turned my head, although I don’t know if this was a greeting or an ʺI can take you with one wing tied behind my backʺ show for Hereyta’s sake. Hereyta went on playing Sippy’s game as if it was all that mattered. I can’t believe she didn’t know the blue dragon was there, but I still don’t know nearly enough about dragon behaviour and I didn’t know anything then.
So I made do with the fact that Dag wasn’t happy to see whoever it was. He didn’t say anything to Hereyta, but I don’t know if you call off a dragon like you call off a dog (or grab your foogit by the topknot). I know I keep saying how they’ve been bred for thousands of years to be amenable to human commands, but I defy you to get anywhere near a dragon and not utterly and profoundly believe that a dragon obeys any human only because it is a bizarrely good-natured creature. Or maybe because it has a bizarre sense of humour, in which case maybe dragons have something in common with foogits after all. Anyway, Hereyta went on with her game as Dag stiffened himself to greet the other dragonrider.
ʺMay you fly over a clear horizon,ʺ said the other, with that funny lilt that goes with a formal ritual greeting. I thought I saw his eyebrows go up as he registered that Dag was out of uniform but if they did they came right back down again.
Dag without preamble said to me, ʺThis is Setyep.ʺ I was horribly embarrassed. I was sure there was a proper response to the greeting before you even got to the introductions, and then there is no way that a younger brother should have been introduced first to a dragonrider, even a pre-First-Flight cadet dragonrider. But that was Dag. He’d sit the dragonrider exams to please his parents (and maybe a little to show his cousin we weren’t the useless branch of the family) but once he found himself in the Academy, he was going to do it his way. ʺSetyep,ʺ he went on, ʺthis is my brother, Ern.ʺ
If Setyep was offended, he didn’t show it. Maybe he was used to Dag. His eyebrows didn’t even twitch. ʺThat’s a foogit, isn’t it?ʺ he said, sounding interested. ʺHow did you train it to do that? I could use a foogit myself, if I’d known.ʺ
I may have made a gargling noise.
ʺAracʺ—this was presumably the dragon, who was now staring off over the trees as if it hadn’t seen Hereyta either, and hadn’t roused its wings in an attempt that failed to get a response out of her—ʺcan be remarkably lazy about paying attention to which direction I’m trying to send him in, and I live in dread that he’ll go some other way entirely, from not paying attention.ʺ
I felt Dag relax a little. I wondered what Setyep had done to annoy him. He’d stiffened for Eled too when we’d first met him but this was a stiffer stiffening. ʺI’m not sure Ern would call it training, would you, Ern?ʺ
I tried to swallow the large boulder in my throat and with a heroic effort made a semi-intelligible answer. ʺHe’s always done that. When I—er—when I found him he had a broken leg, and at first when he could use it again, this seemed like a good way to exercise it. But it was his idea. I just didn’t, you know, try to stop him.ʺ
Setyep seemed to find this amusing. ʺI’m only a cadet, of course,ʺ he said, ʺbut I guess that’s pretty much how dragons get trained too. We don’t stop them doing things and then pretend it was our idea. The big question has always been why they happen to do things we might want them to do—and why they let us get away with pretending it had anything to do with us.ʺ
This was so much what I had been thinking I was temporarily distracted. I hadn’t seen either dragon move; it wasn’t that they were standing like statues, but I hadn’t seen them move purposefully. But somehow or other they had squared themselves off so that Sippy was suddenly like the third point of the triangle. I don’t know why it looked like that to me. If you have three things plonked down somewhere you can always make a triangle out of them, can’t you? And Sippy—it’s not like he ever stayed plonked.
But as he ran around making hexagons and dodecagons and things—like a street fair juggler moving his hands fast enough to fool you about where he’s hidden the pebble or the ball—it was like when he ran over the correct triangle point something happened. Or something almost happened. I know how dumb this sounds, but for like half a breath where we were was somewhere else. It was hotter there, wherever it was, and the trees had a funny pink halo. If they were trees.
Then Hereyta turned her head, and whatever it was—whatever dragon magic it was—was broken. Arac turned his head too, and looked at Hereyta. Then they both looked at Sippy. Sippy nodded his head and shook himself all over . . . and then flung himself on the ground and rolled around wildly as if it was all too much for him. Whatever it was. Having two dragons to run at, maybe, assuming what I’d just seen was his adaptation of his game, for two dragons. I wondered if either of the other humans present had noticed anything. Anything like hot wind and pink trees.
Dag was in fact looking at the sky. ʺThere aren’t any clouds,ʺ he said. ʺAnd the trees are motionless. Am I losing my mind or is there a weird breath of hot air that keeps gusting over us?ʺ
ʺYou’re probably losing your mind,ʺ said Setyep. ʺIt’s a well-known phenomenon, First Flight nerves. But I’ve got it too, if it’s any comfort—it’s more like opening an oven door, rather than a breeze.ʺ
ʺYes,ʺ said Dag. ʺThat’s what I thought.ʺ
There was a little silence. ʺEven Dorgin says he lives in a state of perpetual surprise, living around dragons,ʺ said Setyep. ʺIt’ll be suppertime by the time we get the dragons back to the hsa. You hungry?ʺ
Sippy, who has a limited vocabulary, understood ʺhungry.ʺ The way he tore around he was always hungry, and playing with dragons had evidently worn off lunch. He shot over and pranced around Setyep who had said the magic word. Setyep bent to pat him when he came to a halt for long enough, and ruffled the forelock that fell into his eyes. ʺHe’s got the vestigial third eye, doesn’t he?ʺ he said. ʺI’ve always heard that’s lucky in a foogit.ʺ
I shrugged. ʺIt’s supposed to be rare. People always make rare stuff lucky, don’t they?ʺ
ʺGetting killed by a roc is rare,ʺ said Setyep. ʺAnd I’ve never heard that it’s lucky.ʺ
Dag laughed and Setyep looked pleased. ʺCome on then, supper for you too,ʺ he said, and stretched up to put his hand on Arac’s nearer ankle spur. Arac turned—obediently, carefully, setting each enormous foot down as gently as a feather, as if testing for the presence of small crunchable creatures before he put his weight on it. Also when you’re that big even stepping along really slowly eats up the landscape, and gives the small crunchable creatures you’re being careful not to stand on a chance to keep up with you—and started back toward the hill.