Ship of Destiny

Good. There was satisfaction in the voice. Be still, little one. Don't try to defy me, and I won't have to kill you. A pause. I really have no desire to see any of us die. As closely interwoven as we are, the death of any of us would be a risk to the others. You would have realized that, if you had paused to think. 1 give you that time now. Use it to ponder our situation.

For a space, Wintrow focused only on his survival. Breath caught, then shuddered through his lungs again. His heartbeat steadied. He was peripherally aware of exclamations of relief. Pain still seethed. He tried to pull his mind back from it, to ignore its clamor of serious damage to his body so that his thoughts could focus on the problem the dragon had set him.

He cringed at her sudden flash of irritation. By all that flies, have you no sense at all? How have creatures like you managed to survive and infest the world so thoroughly and yet have so little knowledge of yourselves? Do not pull back from the pain and imagine that makes you strong. Look at it, you dolt! It is trying to tell you what is wrong so you confix it. No wonder you all have such short life spans. No, look at it! Like this.

THE CREWMEN WHO HAD CARRIED THE CORNERS OF THE SHEET SUPPORTING Wintrow's body had lowered him gently to the deck. Even so, Ke

The dim light inside the cabin had been merciful. Out here, in the clear light of day, Ke

"Oh, Ke

"Quiet!" he commanded her, almost roughly. He had to think. If the boy died now, it would be a denial of all the good luck Ke

Unmindful of the gathered crewmen who looked down on the wracked boy in hushed silence, Ke

He was peripherally aware of the hushed murmur that ran through the watching crewmen. Sympathy, they felt sympathy for him. He felt a flash of irritation that they might construe his speaking so as weakness. But, no, it was not pity they felt. He looked up into their faces, and saw only concern, not just for Wintrow, but for him. They were touched by their captain's regard for this injured boy. He sighed. Well, if Wintrow must die, he would wring what good from it he could. Gently he stroked his cheek. "Poor lad," he muttered, just loud enough to be heard. "So much pain. It would be merciful to let you go, wouldn't it?"

He glanced up at Etta. Tears ran unashamedly down her cheeks. "Try the water again," he bade her gently. "But don't be disappointed. He is in Sa's hands now, you know."

THE DRAGON TWISTED HIS AWARENESS. WINTROW DID NOT SEE WITH HIS EYES, nor wallow in the sensation of pain. Instead, she bent his awareness in a direction he had never before imagined. What was the pain? Damaged units of his body, breaks in his defenses against the outside world. The barriers needed repairing, the damaged units must be broken down and dispersed. Nothing must get in the way of this task. All his resources should be put to it. His body demanded this of him, and pain was the alarm that sounded through him.

"Wintrow?" Etta's voice penetrated the woolly blackness. "Here is water." A moment later he felt an a

A light pressure on his cheek. From far away, a voice he knew. "Die if you must, lad. But know that it hurts me. Ah, Wintrow, if you have any love for me at all, reach out and live. Don't forsake the dream that you yourself foretold."

The words stored themselves in him, to be considered later. He had no time for Ke

He felt himself relax. Unrestricted by tension, the resources of his body now flowed to his injured parts. He knew his needs. After a moment, he found the reluctant muscles of his jaws and his laggard tongue. He moved his mouth. "Water," he managed to croak. He lifted a stiffened arm in a faint attempt to shield himself. "Shade," he begged. The touch of the sun and wind on his damaged skin was excruciating.

"He spoke!" Etta exulted.

"It was the captain," someone else declared. "Called him right back from death."

"Death himself steps back from Ke

The rough palm that so gently touched his cheek, and the strong hands that carefully raised his head and held the blessedly cool and dripping cup to his mouth, were Ke

Wintrow drank to that.

I THINK YOU CAN HEAR ME. SHE WHO REMEMBERS TRUMPETED THE WORDS AS she swam in the shadow of the silvery hull. She kept pace with the ship. I smell you. I sense you, but 1 ca

She fell silent, straining with every sense after a response. Something, she tasted something in the water, a bitter scent like the stinging toxins from her own glands. It oozed from the ship's hull, if such a thing could be. She seemed to hear voices, voices so distant that she could not make out their words, only that they spoke. It made no sense. The serpent half-feared she was going mad. That would be bitter irony, finally to achieve her freedom and then have madness defeat her.

She shuddered her whole length, releasing a thin stream of toxins. Who are you? she demanded. Where are you? Why do you conceal yourself from me?