Sable's Arc

Chapter 15 of 18

Paul's song held the mother dragon one night. By the next morning she was restless again. Sable knew the willow could not hide her forever. The beast needed a den of her own, wide and deep, far from any road. Sable had walked every cave in the valley. None was big enough. She sat under the branches and turned a river stone in her hand, out of ideas. Then a shadow crossed the grass. Sable looked up. Gemma Silvestre stood at the edge of the willow, her gem-covered dress catching the morning light. Sable stood fast. This was the woman who had taken the Mirrorstone in trade for her silence. Sable had put all her trust in that trade. Now here she was, standing over the dragon's last hiding place. "You said you'd keep away," Sable said. "I keep my word." Gemma did not come closer. "I came to return one thing." She held out a small wooden lyre. Its strings caught the sun. "You need to move her. Music brought her here. Music can move her again." Sable took the lyre but shook her head. "Move her where? There's no place left." Gemma looked up, past the branches, at the open sky. "Not every den is in the ground." She whistled, one clear note. Something dropped through the clouds. A small buffalo, blue-coated, with a white hat and wide wings, drifted down and landed in the grass. It folded its wings and blinked at Sable. "It flew here," Gemma said. "From a high place. A ledge in the far peaks, above the treeline. No road reaches it. No hunter climbs it. Nothing lives there but the wind and things with wings." She paused. "A dragon has wings." Sable stared at the flying calf. She had thought only of caves. She had never once looked up. The far peaks were a full day's flight. No net, no rope, no man could follow. "She won't leave the hatchling," Sable said. "Then the hatchling flies with her." Gemma nodded at the lyre. "Play the cry. Lead her up. The little buffalo shows the way." Sable ducked under the branches. The mother dragon lifted her head. Sable set the lyre against her arm and picked out the hatchling's cry, the same rising notes the chipmunk had played. The dragon's ears turned. She rose, careful now, and gathered the hatchling in her claws. Sable walked into the open and kept playing. The buffalo spread its wings and climbed. The mother dragon followed it up, wings beating slow, her hatchling held close. They rose past the willow, past the cliffs, toward the far white peaks. Sable watched until they were two dark specks, then nothing. The valley was empty of dragons. The willow stood whole. No hunter would ever climb that high. Gemma turned to go. "She's safe now," she said. "But you've lost your reason to stay quiet. When they find the willow empty, they'll want to know where she went."