The Rite of Spring: The Dragon Hunter

The Rite of Spring: Fragment 06

The Dragon Hunter
in which Linnain conveys a burden into the Great Place

There's no denying that bint was a nuisance. She couldn't do anything practical - she couldn't cook, she did nothing to help with butchering the dragon. She said it was messy, and not appropriate for her. Well, I know it's pissing messy, I don't like it myself, but she might have shown some gratitude. Anyway, it took me six days to get all the bits I wanted off the stinking carcase and organised for travelling, during which she did nothing but mope around the cave. Fair enough, I suppose, she was still a bit concussed, and I know that her ribs were hurting her. But the stupid bint wouldn't let me look at the pissing things, so she got what she asked for there.

We had a right old battle over her leg. She'd have let the pisser go septic, left to herself. The fuss when I had to take the stitches out, you wouldn't believe. She was so stuck on her prissy 'modesty' I could spit. She wouldn't even take her veil off to sleep. When I discovered that she was planning to go off to the City on her tod to find her pissing boyfriend, I soon told her that she wouldn't pass as a woman of the Place with that rag on.

Still, all this messing about had a funny side to it. She was just about as hot on not seeing my skin as me not seeing hers, and so she never did find out how she'd got me wrong. When she really pissed me off, I would have a quiet giggle to myself about that, and it would take the edge off my temper.

But I never could get that angry with the silly pisser. You'd have thought, when I found out who she really was, I'd have just kicked her out and walked away from her, but - well, I didn't. She was so serious about it. She was so concerned to save the skins of her vicious little bunch of thieving cutthroats that she was willing to expose herself to all the dangers of the Place - well, she thought it was dangerous, she really did. Who was I to tell her different?

Her leg was hurting her more than she let on, too. If she'd only said, look, it hurts, I need a rest, I'd have taken a day off for her. I even thought of abandoning the wings so's to let her ride the mule. She had real guts, that one, and real dignity, for all her prissy manners.

So day by day we walked down.

I do love the high valleys of the Rim; they are so wild and fierce, yet so honest in their wildness. The dangers are all there, in the open, waiting for you without malice. I spent the first year of my freedom in those valleys, living alone and wild with the goats and the hares, and ever since I have been unhappy when I've been away for them for more than a season. That particular valley, that I was in when I found Aonan, is my favourite. I don't think it has a name; it isn't marked on any map I've ever seen. I don't think anyone knows either of the ways into it but me. The river that runs down it is called the Horsewater, at least from where it comes out into Kiarvel.

I love it at any time of year, but spring is best. Spring when the new needles glow fresh from the battered branches of the little twisted pine trees, and down by the roaring spates the wild apricots are brilliant with blossom. Spring when the fresh grass grows green among the great grey boulders of the valley bottoms with a thousand different kinds of flowers floating in it, and the azaleas blaze down from the high screes.

There is an afternoon I remember particularly, from that journey. We were resting in a little copse of pine trees. We'd slept through the morning, but it was past the middle of the day and we were both awake. Aonan was wrapped in a blanket, which was pretty normal - she washed her clothes almost every day, before we went to sleep, and hung them somewhere convenient to dry. I used to have a little mischievous fantasy about what would happen if the goats got to them, or even if I quietly hid them myself and pretended it was goats. Then one day they did go missing. Her real distress made me feel a right shit, but it turned out they'd just blown away and I found them easily.

We were lying on a bed of pine needles near the edge of the wood, a herd of goats all around as usual. They were sheltering through the dargon-time, as we were. Little parties of woolly white kids tumbled about among the roots and deadfalls, bleating, playing chase games just like children. Aonan was into one of her piss-boring language lessons. These were a daily chore. When I had told her that no-one in the place would understand her speech - it was pissing funny to see how surprised she was when I told her we spoke a different language altogether - she threw herself into learning. She would make me tell her in endless detail about all manner of ordinary things, and then I'd have to correct her as she said it all back. She worked so pissing hard at it, and she was good, too, but her accent cracked me up.

She was bright, though, the bint. When I told her her accent was atrocious, instead of working on it, she had the idea of inventing a speech defect so's she'd only whisper rather hoarsely. It didn't sound normal, mind - but you didn't notice her accent.

Anyway, we were lying there that afternoon talking away, but my attention was way up in the searing blue sky, watching the dark flecks swirl and wheel about the pinaccles. Three times I saw pairs of them spiral up, merge, and plane away before I saw what I'd been hoping for.

"Aonan!"

I interrupted. "Look!"

Just one fleck now, not seeming to move much, but only, at first imperceptibly, to grow. Then sudenly they were hurtling down towards us, linked together, eerily silent. Every time I have seen the beasties mate I have felt sure they have misjudged it, that this time they will not make it, that this time they will plough straight into the ground. Suddenly they were upon us, the whistling scream of them, the roar of the great female's overstrained golden membranes deafening. Almost above us she threw the male out from under her. He squirmed in the air, and his wings opened with a rattling bang as the membranes filled. And then they were gone, and only the threshing of the pine branches to say that two of the God's greatest creatures had passed less than half a wingspan above us; and that, quickly stilled.

And then there was nothing but Aonan, sobbing. I realised that for her the dragons were not symbols of freedom and beauty, but of terror and fear. I rolled over and pulled her to me, and she burrowed her carefully groomed head into the greasy shoulder of my old leather hunting tunic and wept like a child for a long time. I stroked her hair. I felt... Oh piss, I don't know. She was so prissy and arrogant, such a pissing nuisance, but at the same time so courageous and vulnerable. The truth is she reminded me so much of... oh, piss. The last thing I wanted was to get involved with a pissing Rhiconicfhear. So I rocked her and gentled her and murmured soft meaningless things.

And then afterwards, of course, after she had got over her shock and fear, she was doing her prickly princess act all night. But there is nothing that equals the awe of living in dragon country.

Anyway, eventually we got out of the Rim into Kiarvel. Down in the valley, it was warm. The grass was thick and green and full of flowers, so that my mule was even more cussed than usual. Out in the bottom, we came on the Yachorach mares, running with the King Horse. I suppose I'm used to Yachorach horses, but Aonan was well impressed, pointing out this one and that. She seemed really excited, and livelier and better-looking than ever.

After a time we met some of the Yachorach who were riding herd. It was the first time I'd seen the bint with other people. She was all stiff and haughty. I thought at first she was shy, but then I realised it was the clothes of the Yachorach women that were putting her off. Anyway, we walked along beside them for a while, and then Dhonain offered Aonan her horse. Dhonain looks after the herd of the House of Kiar. She's at the back end of her middle years, but she's still a powerful, fine looking woman. I'd met her many times before, up in the valley; I met her the first time I came over the mountains. That day she was wearing a breechcloth, leather boots to keep the whin out of her legs, and that skimpy little bodice the Yachorach wear that just stops your tits jiggling and nothing else. Aonan was pissing funny. You could see she wanted to ride, but at the same time she couldn't bring herself to speak to Dhonain.

Anyway, after I'd let her wind herself up a bit, I sorted the thing out and she got her ride. She rode well, taking the horse skipping and dancing across the heath, and came back flushed and sparkling. She went up to Dhonain, who had cut another horse out of the herd and was riding it bare back, and thanked her very formally. Dhonain's response was friendly, which I thought was one up for her, because by that time I'd told her who Aonan was. I was still walking - I'm not that keen on horses - so I didn't get to hear much of what they said. They trotted off round the herd together, pointing out this animal and that, and you could see the bint relax. When they left me she was sitting straight as a pine tree, but after a while she was turning round, pointing, gesturing - laughing. It felt good to see her like that, but I felt - ah, piss, I don't know. It was like I was left out, me that lives alone for choice.

We stopped that night at the herd camp. It wasn't much of a camp - typical Yachorach, they hadn't even brought a tent. Still, they had good food, and it was a change from lentil porrage. And the talk was fun - at least, I enjoyed it. The bint just stiffened up, and spent the whole time staring at her lap. I think it was being near the younger women that was upsetting her now. Among the Yachorach, it's folk who've no brats who ride with the herds, so it's the youngest people and the older ones. When we'd got to the camp, most of them had stripped off and bathed in the river. I got pissed off with her attitude, so I pretty much let her get on with it; but I went and sat with her when we ate. So we ate, and talked; and as the dusk gathered round some of the women nodded to the men of their fancy, and led them off into the bushes.

I got the feeling of being watched, and looked up to see Dhonain staring at me. She gave a flick of her head, got up, and started off out of camp. I was surprised. I suppose I just sat like a pissing dummy for a moment. She looked hard back at me, flicked her head, and went on. I got up to follow. Aonan said

"where are you going?"

and I replied

"to get pissing laid, what do you think?", and left her.

I'll say this, the Yachorach dame gave me a good roll. After we'd done, while we were still naked in the grass and huddled close for warmth, she said

"what's she like to lay, the prissy Rhiconicfhear bitch?"

I said I didn't know, I hadn't tried.

"Don't you fancy her?"

Well, I'd never really thought of the bint that way. Well... but anyway I don't like starting things. I said

"I havn't tried"; and Dhonain said "if you don't ask, you won't get."

She got up, scratched, and pulled her clothes back on.

"I'd ask, if I were you. She looks as if she could give you a fiesty ride, that one."

When we got back to the fire, I found Aonan sitting by herself with her back to the trunk of a pine tree. She was angry with me. I said something back at her, and she burst into tears. I felt a right turd. I was still pissed off with her, but I could see she was really scared. I got the bedding from the panniers and made her a bed down. She got into it, but when I turned away to find myself somewhere to sleep, she just said

"Lin..."

in this really pathetic, little child voice. I went back. She said

"stay with me, please..."

What can you do? I had my big jerkin on anyway - I'd got it when I got the bedding - and seeing I'd given her all the blankets it didn't much matter where I bedded down. She took my hand, and held on to it. Oh, well, I thought, and reached out to hold her. At that she did her

"don't touch me"

bit, but she didn't let go my hand. She was a funny bint.

The next day we set off again down the valley. Dhonain gave me a very warm farewell, which was nice. After we'd gone a bit, I said something about it being nice to have met them, and the bint spat something about savages. I was just pissed. Here were a bunch of people who'd lent her a horse, fed her, talked to her - they'd no need to, for the God's sake, not for a pissing Rhiconicfhear. They'd done her no harm, given her no insult - I was pissed. I let fly at her. After I'd done, we didn't speak for the rest of the day, just trudged on in silence, her all head up pride. By evening I was wanting to make up, but she just sat like a stookie letting me do all the work, and didn't even thank me for her food.

In the morning we came out of the valley onto the open heath. I told her I was going down to Fourth Cataract to sell my wings and bones, and if she'd wait around for that I'd take her up to the City myself. But no, she was in too much of a hurry. She had to get there the fastest way. So - well, I was still pissed off with her, so I gave her a blanket, a water bottle, a spare shirt, and some money, and sent her on her way.

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