“Did you hear that, cousin? I might soon be on my way to Calidia!”
“You think? Nebekker’s not exactly a cuddly old grandma helping everyone out of the goodness of her heart.” Brajon wiggled his fingers at Silver. “Ooo, maybe she’s secretly a magical crone who’s going to—”
“Imprison me and force me to weave for her forever?” Silver laughed. That was the plot of an ancient desert fable. But Nebekker wasn’t an old mystic, and this was real life, not a story.
Silver went to the overlook again and curled her hands around the railing. In the vast desert, the storm began to settle and a new landscape of dunes took shape. Somewhere, far on the other side of those golden hills, the water dragons that swam in the Royal Pools of Calidia waited for Silver Batal.
TWO
That evening, Silver snuck out while the stars still dotted the desert sky, creeping down roads that were empty save for a desert beetle scuttling across the toes of her boots.
When she reached Nebekker’s house, she hesitated, hand raised. Brajon’s remark clouded her thoughts. Could the old woman really help Silver impress Sagittaria Wonder?
Nebekker was from far away, but where, exactly, no one seemed to know. She had simply shown up in Jaspaton one day, many years before Silver was born, emerging from the desert with only a walking stick and a small pack on her back. Some said she’d been raised by nomads in the far reaches of the vast desert, while others claimed she was from Calidia. If that were true, Silver couldn’t understand why she’d leave the excitement of the royal city to come here. Either way, Silver had never seen evidence that Nebekker knew anything about water dragon racing.
Before Silver could make up her mind to either turn back or knock, the door was flung open.
“I thought I heard someone out there,” Nebekker said. “Don’t just stand there gaping. You’re letting dust in.”
Nebekker ushered Silver inside. The house was small and shadowy, for there was only one candle burning on the low table in the center of the main room. Shelves lined the walls. They were covered with oiled wood boxes and milky marble bowls. Sparkling glass canisters and beaded clay urns.
Exotic smells that reminded Silver of the traders from afar hit her nose. Floral scents, like the perfumes the yarnsladies sometimes accepted in exchange for their blankets and rugs. Damp smells, like in the inks they imported to dye the wool yarns.
Silver gasped when she caught sight of a wooden jug inlaid with a mother-of-pearl water dragon. Her fingers itched to pick up the container and explore its contents.
“Sit.” Nebekker pointed to the cushions around the table. She pulled a pitcher down from a shelf, and Silver strained her eyes in the dark to see what strange and foreign concoction it contained. But when Nebekker poured a glass and set it in front of her, she discovered it was only plain, cold succulent tea.
Nebekker sat across from her. “So, you love water dragons, hmm? They are very interesting creatures.”
“You love them, too?” It felt like dune beetles were scurrying inside Silver’s belly.
“Ah. Hmm.” Nebekker peered through the dim circle of candlelight at Silver. “You seem surprised. You young ones always forget that we old ones were young once, too. We had parents who disapproved. We had hopes. We were rebellious.” She laughed. “Maybe you’re right to distrust us. Too many of us old ones forget what it’s like to be young. To have dreams!”
Someone who understood! Silver wanted to tell Nebekker everything. How important it was that her hero was coming to town. How her parents—and everyone in Jaspaton, really—couldn’t comprehend her. How she would give anything to race a water dragon.
Silver swallowed thickly so all her secrets wouldn’t come tumbling out at once.
“You said that you would teach me how to weave a racing suit,” she said.
“I did.” Nebekker nodded. She pushed her tea away and took up a bit of wool. “But now I’m not so sure. I’ve seen you around. You’re headstrong. You rush things. Your thoughts are too far away to focus. You have no patience and little respect.”
“That’s not true,” Silver cried, then quickly lowered her voice.
“It is, and the whole city knows it, ele-jeweler.”
Silver winced at the traditional Jaspatonian diminutive—ele, meaning “one who belongs to a trade.”
“I’ll do anything. I’ll be patient and work hard and—”
“What do you know about water dragons?” Nebekker said.
“Everything! The Shorsa is the breed with the most wins, but Sagittaria Wonder races on a Dwakka and hasn’t lost in two years, except for the World Cup, which the Island Nations have held for the past five years and—”
“So you know something about the races, but I asked about water dragons.”
Silver lowered her eyes. The walls in her room were covered with charcoal drawings on parchment of water dragons and their riders. The dragons were brought from hundreds and thousands of miles away, by traveling traders and scouts, for the royal families and wealthy merchants across the desert and beyond. Articles about the great water dragon races—who attended, who won, who perished—surrounded the pictures. Silver’s own writing was also on the wall. She’d created diagrams and fact sheets about every type of water dragon she’d ever heard about. The fat, bubblelike Floatillion, whose green skin was as smooth as stretched fabric. The two-headed Dwakka, with one always-smiling face and one sinister face. The tiny Shorsa, almost too small and upright to be ridden, but as fast as a desert wind.
“I know so many things,” Silver said, her gaze drifting to the water dragon jug. “But I want to learn everything.”
“Then Calidia is a good place for you.” Nebekker gave her a shrewd look, then sighed deeply. Silver fought a smile. It seemed that she had convinced the grouchy elder.
“Did you know that this wool, when worked tightly with thin strands, is light but also water-repellent?” Nebekker said. “Both admirable qualities for a water dragon racing suit.”
Silver touched the wool. “How do you know all this?”
“I, too, once wanted to learn everything. But there isn’t time to talk about that. We have to work quickly. We’ll use you as the model.”
Nebekker told Silver to stand, then took her measurements. She lay parchment on the table, and Silver watched, mesmerized, as Nebekker brainstormed a pattern, made up of hundreds of individual scales pieced together. As night shifted to morning, Nebekker showed Silver a way to work the wool that was different from the traditional Jaspatonian methods. A way that created lighter fabric with tighter, smaller stitches that would lie flat and point downward against the body.
For the next ten days, Silver snuck out every night to work on the suit. Most of the time, they worked quietly. Sometimes, Silver attempted conversation.
“So you were a weaver in your old town? Where did you come from?”
“From far away” was all Nebekker said.
Silver fell silent. She knew it had been rude to ask. Jaspatonians never asked personal questions, because they didn’t have to. There were few secrets in a place where everyone had known everyone else their whole lives.
But Silver’s curiosity was too fierce, and soon more questions bubbled up.
“How did you get those scars on your hands?”
“From hard work,” Nebekker said.
“Everyone says you just appeared outside Herd Valley one day. No one with you, not even a herd animal. Is that true?”