Child of the Dragon - Chapter Four

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Chapter Four 2

The next morning Amara found herself alone again. Strange, but Amara could have someone had slept next to her last night. Someone must have for the spot on her pallet next to her was still warm. Who was it? Coran? Whoever it was, it was certainly male and human. 3

Amara pushed her nighttime visitor from her mind, choosing to talk to Urga about later, and focused on more important matters: Dao-Sing 4

Amara hadn’t seen him since the previous morning and was getting worried. Had he abandoned her? She picked herself off her pallet, adjusting her tunic, and walked to the entrance of the cave. The glaring sun was high in the sky, signaling that the day was already half-way over. Amara placed a hand over eyes as she scanned the vast valley and every mountain peak, but found no vivid red amongst the shades of brown and dust. 5

No Dao-Sing. 6

Amara sniffed the air but caught nothing that even hinted of the ancient musky smell of old bark that belonged to Dao-Sing. Her uncanny hearing could not find a whisper of his beautiful deep rumble. 7

No red on brown. 8

No musky bark. 9

No beautiful whispers. 10

No Dao-Sing. 11

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Amara found herself under the forbidden pear tree again, having given up her efforts to find her guardian. The new practicality that Urga had installed in her kept her from panicking. Amara was sure that if she wasn’t a woman she would be in hysterical tears by now. She might have even taken her own life. 13

She had searched the caves of the mountain she lived in, scoured the valley and mountains and asked every living creature she could find, but was forced to come to the conclusion she had made as soon as she woke that morning: Dao-Sing was gone and wasn’t coming back. 14

Again, Amara was amazed she was not holding on to the childish belief that he wasn’t gone, that he was hurt and something was keeping him from her. No, there was a hole in Amara that wasn’t there when she had Dao-Sing. 15

There was just one question racking her brain. Why was she giving up so fast? Before the ritual Amara had been stubborn, pursuing every little task or quest with an obsession that bordered on insanity. Was this more of what Urga called womanhood? If a woman was someone who would lie down and quit when she had barely started, Amara wanted no more of it. 16

She wanted to find Dao-Sing. 17

With a new determined glint in her eyes, Amara left her reclined position under the tree and walked across the valley, over hills to the edge of her secluded home. There it was; the steep, rocky, almost vertical path that Urga had told her was the path out and Dao-Sing had told her was forbidden. 18

Taking a deep gulp of air, Amara steeled the nerves that suddenly began swimming in her stomach and began the path. 19

It was slow work. Many of the sandy rocks were loose and became dislodged under Amara’s feet. Twice she slid back to the bottom of the path, landing in a dusty and bruised heap. She would not give up though; her womanhood would not let her. 20

Perhaps she her earlier thoughts were wrong. Women did not give up; they were just practical and thought things through. Or maybe the effects of the ritual were wearing thin and weakening its hold on Amara. 21

Amara shook her head; she was thinking too much. She forsook all her wondering, worry of Dao-Sing, Coran, Urga, her womanhood, everything. She only thought of moving each foot, each hand, a little closer to the top, which was looking farther away the closer she got to it. 22

Finally, Amara’s hand grasped only air instead of rock. She was at the top! In a bold move of recklessness, Amara swung her other arm to the top to pull herself on to it. The there was a sudden blur of tan rocks and clouds of dust as her legs lost their grip and Amara fell tumbling over and over back to the bottom. 23

Red and yellow pain exploded in Amara’s arm as she heard a sickening crack. The colorful pain soon faded into black. 24

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She knew she should wake and open her eyes, even if just make Dao-Sing stop licking her. Giggling, she squirmed, begging him to stop. 26

“Alright, I’m awake! Stop it, Dao-Sing, stop!” 27

“I’m not Dao-Sing.” 28

Amara’s eyes instantly shot open to see Coran’s face swimming in her blurry eyes. As they cleared, Amara saw concern and confusion dancing on his face. And then there was some emotion on his face that Amara did not recognize, an ugly feeling that made Amara’s insides churn. 29

“Coran! What are you doing here?” she cried, turning her eyes away from the ugly emotion. 30

“Well, this is my home, so I guess what I’m doing here is living,” he said with a roguish grin that banished the emotion. It actually made him quite endearing and attractive. 31

As his words registered in her mind, Amara sat up, ignoring the pain in her arm. She was in a strange structure that she had seen in Urga’s fires and pictures in Urga’s books. If she was remembering correctly, it was called a house; artificial shelter humans made their homes in. It seemed smaller than in the pictures, just a jumble of stacked up sticks lashed together with mud and rope, barely larger than the shade of the pear tree. A small, roughly hewn trunk stood against one wall. The only other thing in the room was the pallet Amara laid one, covered with a thin blanket. The air felt thicker than it had in the valley, and somehow poisoned with the scent choking scent of sweat and manure. 32

How in all of Kuwanka had she gotten here? 33

She looked her question at Coran and he seemed to understand her. “I found you unconscious by that hill. What were you doing, trying to climb it?” 34

Amara nodded and looked away, face burning as he chided her like a child. 35

“That’s a very foolish thing to do, you could have been killed. It’s very lucky for you I came along,” Coran said with an air smugness that irked Amara. She recalled learning from Urga that the males of her race were egotistical and looked down upon females. Amara now believed her. 36

Glaring at Coran, Amara rose from the pallet, through the curtain that Amara assumed was the exit. Instead of dusty colored hills and rocks, Amara found yet another room, this one a bit more cluttered with bowls and food and blankets. In the center, there was a fire with an iron pot hanging over it. By it, a frail looking old woman was stirring its contents. 37

Looking up, the woman said smiling, “Ah, you’re up dear. I was afraid you were not going to last. Hit your head pretty nasty!” 38

If Amara had been thinking properly, she would put at ease by the woman’s kind smile that made her many wrinkles squeeze together in a humorous way. But Amara was not thinking properly. The exit, a door she recalled them being called, was a few feet from her and all Amara wanted to do was escape. This change of environment and company was too much for her. 39

Just as she was about to bolt for the door, a pair of tanned arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly against a body and preventing her escape. Oddly, she was reminded of the previous night and the male body that had held her. Was it Coran? 40

Amara struggled against her captor, but was forced to desist when her injured arm protested with a shocking burst of pain. Amara groaned, become slack and clutching at her arm, which she just realized was wrapped in a splint. 41

“Coran, let that girl go right now! You’re hurting her!” the old woman said, tearing Coran off of Amara. She pushed him into a corner and wrapped her arm around Amara. 42

Amara breathed in her scent of dirt and spice and was strangely comforted by it. The smell reminded her of Urga. 43

“Forgive my son, he doesn’t exactly have the greatest mind,” she said as she set Amara down near the fire. “Here let me see this.” The old woman, Coran’s mother, examined her arm, adjusting the splint. Amara studied the woman, her ancient yet wise face, the frailness of her limbs contradicting the underlying strength embedded in them. 44

Despite the contradicting limbs and wise, ancient face, it was the woman’s black eyes that Amara’s studied most. There was great sadness in them, suffering from years past, trials endured and pain inflicted. Yet despite the horrors those black orbs held, there was vigor and a determination to survive that gleamed like the lake when the sun shone directly over it. Amara wanted to hear this woman’s life story someday. 45

“Who are you?” Amara asked to allay her mind from the pain in her arm. 46

“Sophos,” she answered.” There,” she said as she finished, smiling. “Now that wasn’t so bad, now was it dearie,” she clucked. 47

Amara gave Sophos a weak smile, the first since when she awoke on her birthday. It was strange how much had changed in two days, or however long she had been out. Never would she have thought she would have been without Dao-Sing and in the company of two humans that contradicted everything Dao-Sing had taught her. There was Coran, with his good intentions yet masculine ego and Sophos, who had suffered yet had not lost her kindness. 48

Five minutes later, Amara was handed a wooden bowl laden with thick, hot soup and a warm slice of something white and soft. Biting into it, she tasted possibly the oddest thing. It was dry with a grassy flavor, yet with a bit of sweetness to it. 49

“What is this?” she asked Sophos. 50

Sophos looked incredulously at her. “Have you never had bread in your life, Amara?” 51

“No, I’ve only eaten meat all my life,” Amara answered, before another question hit her. “Wait, how is it that you know my name?” 52

Sophos smiled and replied, “Coran told me.” 53

There was no more talking between them as Amara finished her meal, somehow managing to swallow the strange bread and soft vegetables. Life as a human would take some getting used to. In that time, Coran left the corner he had been sulking in to go “check on the herd”, leaving Amara alone with Sophos. She was filling up a rather large basin with water she had heated over the fire and set it behind a curtain. When Amara finished, Sophos beckoned her behind the curtain. 54

“Remove your clothing,” Sophos ordered in a tone that left no room for questioning. With a light flush to her cheeks, Amara removed her dirty tunic, revealing her naked body to Sophos. Oddly, she felt no embarrassment. She felt a quiet comfortable calm with this woman, like she had known her all her life. 55

Sophos eyes widened at the sight of Amara’s scars. She must have not realized that they traveled all the way down to her waist. 56

“What on earth happened?” she gasped, horrified by the sight. 57

“A dragon attack,” Amara replied, desperate to keep the pain out of her voice. 58

They stood there for moment, silent until Sophos gestured for Amara to get into the basin. 59

The steamy water felt soothing against Amara’s skin, much better than the chilly lake she usually bathed in or Dao-Sing’s tongue that had cleansed her as a child. She felt Sophos rub something slippery soft against her skin, massaging her tense muscles. Slowly, all pain and sweat and tension of the past few days melted away with this simple act of being bathed by someone else, a luxury she had not had since she was small. 60

After an hour, when Amara was shinning with cleanliness and the water had chilled, Sophos was satisfied and gave Amara a towel to dry off with. Sophos helped her into a soft blue dress, as Amara’s broken arm hampered her. 61

The sun had nearly set when the two women were finished and it was time for supper. Amara ate very little, as she was still full from her earlier meal, but listened to every word Sophos and Coran said. Over the meal, she learned that Sophos had once had something called a husband but he had died, murdered actually. In fact, Coran was the only member of Sophos family that hadn’t been murdered by trolls. She had lost her husband, parents and her baby daughter to trolls. 62

Amara felt a strange stirring in her at the mention of trolls. Urga had told her about them, their small country that had seceded from Kuwanka. Adikia, she recalled Urga calling it. The name was like rocks. 63

As the chirping crickets began to sing, Sophos decided it was time for Amara and Coran to go to bed. They both followed her order, although Coran protested a bit, and adjoined to separate rooms. Amara was told to go to the room she had woken in, which she learned was Sophos room. She ignored Amara’s protests of not wanting to deny Sophos her room. It felt wrong to Amara, to deprive this woman after she had been so kind to her. 64

In the end, Amara was forced into the room, and fell into a deep sleep. As before, she was again visited by a strange man, but Amara was too tired to care or wonder his identity.65