Raja Whiskerji's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

They stopped at a ruined shelter past midnight. Crumbling walls and broken crates marked an old expedition camp, long abandoned. Kasim ducked inside to check the ground. Raja settled by a cold wall and tried to rest. But the hatchling would not let him. The little dragon hissed every time Raja moved. Its orange markings flared bright. Smoke leaked from its nostrils. It clawed at Kasim's coat and stared at Raja like he was a threat. The more Raja stayed near, the louder it hissed. A thin cry rose from its throat. "Keep it quiet," Raja said. "Sound carries out here." "It smells something on you," Kasim said. He gripped the squirming beast. "A spooked hatchling screams. Screaming draws the hunters. On the open flats, that gets us both eaten." A heavyset man stepped from the dark doorway. He wore dusty orange robes. Faded tattoos wound up both forearms like painted maps. A desert priest, Raja guessed, sheltering in the same ruin. He raised one hand to show he carried no blade. "The creature smells blood or clan-scent," the priest said. His voice was calm and low. "I have crossed with smugglers before. These beasts settle only when the strange scent is masked." He crouched, slow, and eyed Raja's coat. "What do you carry, cat?" Raja's paw went to his chest. The letter. His grandfather's letter, named for the sacred ruins. He had kept it close against his fur for days. The hatchling's eyes locked on that spot and it shrieked. "The paper," the priest said. "Old ink. Blood-sealed, by the look of your fright. The dragon hates it." Raja froze. The letter was his only map to the relic. Without it he had nothing. But the hatchling's cry climbed higher, sharp enough to carry a mile across the salt. "Give me the letter or we leave you here," Kasim said. His one eye did not blink. "I bury cats who argue." Raja pulled the letter out. He could not read it in the dark anyway. He had memorized the ruins' name and the landmarks weeks ago. The paper mattered less than his own breath. He handed it to the priest. The priest wrapped the letter in a strip of his robe and buried it under a loose stone, outside, far from the camp. The hatchling went quiet at once. Its markings dimmed. It curled against Kasim's chest and slept. Silence returned to the flats. No cry rang out. No hunters came. But the priest did not give the letter back. He pressed the stone down and kept his sleeve over his own forearm, hiding one patch of ink. "I'll hold it," he said. "Safer buried than burning that beast's nose. You can fetch it when you pass this way again." Raja said nothing. He had traded his map for one quiet night. Now a stranger held the only thing that pointed to the relic, and the stranger was not coming with them.