Voices of Dragons

17

Kay and her mother drove home from the meeting in silence. Kay didn’t know whether to be terrified or furious. The general’s threat had been obvious—spying was the only way she’d stay out of jail. At seventeen, she could be tried as an adult and sent to prison. But they were using her. She hated that.

When her mother spoke, she did so softly. “It’s almost fu

“What if I don’t do it?” Kay said. “I could just not do it.”

“Besides the fact they’ll send you to jail? Without specific targets, they’ll start using more destructive weapons. Branigan’s talking nukes, but he doesn’t have that authority. At least not yet.”

He would do that? Kay thought, disbelieving. Did he think it was okay to destroy that much land, to risk the radiation—to make such a large area unusable for everyone, just on the chance that it might harm the dragons? Did he hate the dragons that much? She didn’t understand. Even before she’d met Artegal, she wouldn’t have understood wanting to destroy the mountains and forest to get to the dragons, who just kept to themselves, after all.

Kay’s mother continued as if speaking were difficult. “I know you think of the dragon as your friend. I know you think of this as betraying him. But, Kay, he doesn’t need you to protect him. He can take care of himself. You have to think about you. And your family. I can’t lose you, Kay. I can’t lose you, too.” She shook her head in a slow denial, staring straight ahead over the steering wheel with wide eyes.

Kay and her mother had only each other now. Kay loved her mother, of course, but this felt like a burden. Kay could barely keep her own head on straight; she couldn’t keep her mother safe, too.

The next day, she dressed for winter hiking and packed a backpack of supplies. She was vaguely relieved that she wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking around this time. She had official military sanction for what she was doing now.

She found her mother in the living room, curled up with a blanket around her, clutching a mug of steaming coffee. The whole house smelled like fresh coffee. It was a sign of normality—but a little normality made things seem even more surreal. On a usual morning, Mom would have been at work before dawn. Kay would have been getting ready for school, but she hadn’t been back since the fire. Her mother was watching TV, but not news. A shopping cha

Kay stood for a long time wondering what she should say. Maybe she should just leave her mother alone. But she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do that to her mother.

“I’m going,” she said.

Mom looked at her like she hadn’t understood.

“He probably won’t even be there, so I’ll be back in a couple of hours, I think,” Kay continued. “I won’t go far, I promise. Just to our usual spot across the border. I wouldn’t know where else to go anyway.”

Then Mom started to get up, setting aside coffee mug and blanket. “I should go with you. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Kay held up a hand to stop her. “No, Mom. It’s okay. I can do this.”

The look of anguish on Mom’s face was as bad as Kay had ever seen it. Like the world was falling apart all over again.

“Mom, I’ll be careful.”

“At least let me drive you there.” She went for her coat across the arm of the sofa and her purse on the dining room table.

Kay started to argue, then didn’t, because it would be easier just to let her mother drive her. And if it made Mom feel better, well, it didn’t cost Kay anything.

Kind of nice, Kay thought, not having to worry about hiding the Jeep.

During the drive, the silence between them was delicate, like handling well-packed explosives. As long as they took care, nothing would blow up.

They drove past the trailhead to the dirt service road, until the trees blocked them. Mom stopped the car, but kept her hands on the wheel and stared into the forest.

“I’m almost jealous,” she said, do

Kay had, but didn’t know much more than that. Rough details, an old black-and-white photo in the family album. It was a group photo taken outside Silver River, with the northern mountains as a backdrop. Her grandfather was one of the young men in a suit standing to the side, in the crowd surrounding the generals and ambassadors who’d made up the core of the delegation. He’d died when she was too young to really remember him.

“He was just a junior assistant secretary of some sort. But he was there. He met them. And then they were just…gone. I think he’s part of why I got into this line of work, just to be close. As close as I could.”

Maybe, if this all worked out, Kay could bring her mother to meet Artegal. Kay hoped she didn’t ask for that now. Kay just wanted to get the car ride over with. She wanted to get out to the woods, to their spot, confirm that Artegal wasn’t there, and then tell Branigan this wouldn’t work.

“I’ll try to hurry up so you won’t have to wait long,” Kay said.

Mom leaned toward her—fell, almost—and caught Kay up in a tight hug. “Leave your phone on. Call me if you need anything, if anything happens. Though they’re probably listening in on our phones now,” she said with a short laugh.

“What?” Kay said in a panic.

“Never mind, don’t worry about it.” But Kay couldn’t not worry. She couldn’t say anything now without thinking about Branigan listening in. Spying on her. Mom said, “If you’re not back in an hour and you don’t call, I’m coming after you.”

Kay wanted to argue, but strangely, the idea comforted her. She couldn’t just vanish. “Okay.”

She slid out of the car and started into the woods without looking back. She could feel her mother watching her.

Branigan and the others assumed she’d be able to contact Artegal as easily as calling him. That wouldn’t work, so she had to come up with another plan. Start a bonfire and send smoke signals? That would attract attention—but probably not Artegal. That was exactly what she needed, to explain herself to a horde of strange dragons.

Even the dragons who’d been coming to the border didn’t come to this section, the tumbling stream, the climbing rocks, the narrow glen. So, she was going to leave him a note. She’d already written it out and would tack it to a tree in the place where they’d first met, setting a meeting date for the weekend. She assumed he would come here, if he could. Just to check. She was guessing—hoping—that his people hadn’t drafted him for their war or had restricted him or started watching him so he couldn’t travel. Any of a million things could happen that would keep him from coming here. Part of her hoped he did stay away.

When the news carried footage of dragons soaring over other cities, racing away like rockets after they’d started fires, she studied them, searching for the lithe, slate gray and silver form of Artegal. She hadn’t seen him yet.

She came to the creek and followed it upstream to the place where Artegal had fished her out that first day. The creek was rimed with melting ice, and the log bridge was still there.

So was Artegal, a gray mound settled among the trees, wings tucked to his side, tail wrapped around him. He faced the creek, his neck raised, so he could watch the forest on the other side with those deep onyx eyes.