Blood of Dragons (Rain Wild Chronicles #4)

Blood of Dragons (Rain Wild Chronicles #4) Page 49

He shook his head in wonder at the thought and then added, ‘And they could do more than that, it seems. You know how some of the keepers swear they have seen a statue move? The Elderlings knew how to do that. They breathed life into the stone, and the stone keeps a part of them and can move. Sometimes. When it’s awakened by … something. Something that I could not understand, even though an old man was remembering it clearly. It made me realize that Alise was right, is right. We need to know what she knows about the history of this city, and then we need to apply it. You know what she told me a few days ago? That when Rapskal confronted her that day and said she wasn’t an Elderling and that the city didn’t belong to her, she was so discouraged that she nearly burned all her work! Can you imagine it? I knew I felt angry at him that day, but I’d no idea how badly he had hurt Alise.’

He paused, and she sensed he hoped she would share his anger. He waited for her to say something and she knew that if she did, it would be saying much more than that she thought Rapskal had been thoughtlessly cruel. Tats watched her stillness. But she could not find a way out of her silence. Rapskal hadn’t said it to hurt Alise; he’d said it to assert his right to the city. A silly thought danced in her brain. Alise is a grown-up. Can grown-ups really have their feelings so badly hurt? So hurt they think of burning all their work or killing themselves? But by the time she realized how childish her reaction was, Tats had shaken his head at her silence and moved on.

‘We need to map this city. Not just the streets, but where the spring houses are, and the drains. And we need to make maps that show what information is stored where. Right now, it’s like a huge treasure house, full of thousands of boxes of treasures, and we have thousands of different keys. The wealth is here, right under our feet, but we can’t make sense of it. Like that Silver well that Sylve was talking about the other day.’

She looked at him, surprised. He mistook it for confusion.

‘I guess your mind was elsewhere. She says she keeps having dreams about a silver well. She’s wandered through the city looking for it, but hasn’t seen anything like what she dreamed. She thinks she’s remembering something that Mercor knows about. She says he mentioned something about the silver wells of Kelsingra, a long time ago when we first began our journey here. She wants to talk to him but she’s like the rest of us. Since her dragon took flight, he doesn’t have a lot of time for her. And she said another odd thing. She says it feels like he avoids the topic, as if it makes him uncomfortable.’

‘Sintara spoke to me once of a silver well. It seemed very important to her. But she said her memories of it were fragmented.’ She put the words out casually.

‘The well isn’t silver,’ Tats said slowly. He gave her a sideways glance as if he expected her to mock him. ‘I dreamed of it last night. The structure around it was old and very fancy. As much wood as stone, as if it had been built at the very beginning of the city. Inside there was this mechanism … I couldn’t see it well. But when you cranked up the bucket from the depths, it was full of silvery stuff. Thicker than water. Dragons can drink it and love it. But I had the feeling it was dangerous to humans.’

‘Humans? Or Elderlings?’

He looked at her for a long moment. ‘I’m not sure. In the dream I knew I had to be very careful of it. But was I dreaming it as if I were a human or an Elderling?’

It was her turn to sigh. ‘Sometimes I don’t like what this place is doing to me. Even without touching memory-stones, I have dreams that don’t quite belong to me. I turn a corner and just for an instant, I feel like I’m someone else, with a whole lifetime of memories and friends and expectations for the day. I pass a house and want to visit a friend, one I’ve never had.’

Tats was nodding. ‘Those standing stones, the big ones in the circle in that plaza, they remind me of different cities when I pass them. You know, the other Elderling cities …’

She shook her head at him. ‘No. But I walk through a memory of a market and suddenly I want a fish cake spiced with that hot red oil. And then, just as abruptly, I’m me again and I know that I’m sick of fish, with or without red oil.’

‘The memories tug at me, too. I don’t like it—’ Tats halted suddenly. He took her arm, pulling her to a stop.

Down by the river, work progressed under Carson’s supervision. A crude wooden dock made of logs had been roped to some of the old support columns. The river tugged at it and grey water bulged and flowed over the end of it. Harrikin, stripped to worn trousers and securely roped against the current, was in the water, trying to force one log into alignment with another. Carson was shouting directions to him as he kept tension on a line tied to the opposite end of the timber. Lecter, muscles bunching with effort, crouched over a log on the shore, slowly turning a drill to put a hole through it. Not far away, Alum was smoothing straight pieces of sapling into dowel. The sound rode thin on the spring wind. Nortel, ribs bandaged from a log-setting mishap earlier in the week, crouched on the dock with a mallet and pegs, waiting to fasten the log. It was cold, wet, dangerous work. And it was Tats’s assignment for the afternoon. He tugged at her hand and she met his gaze. ‘I’ve heard what Rapskal says. That we have to plunge ourselves into the city’s memories if we are to learn how to live here as Elderlings. But I also remember all the warnings I heard in Trehaug. What Leftrin told us before he left, that lingering too long near memory-stone can drown you. That you can lose your own life in remembering someone else’s.’