Dragon's Heart: The Pit Dragon Chronicles, Volume Four

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9780547398624: Dragon's Heart: The Pit Dragon Chronicles, Volume Four

Austar IV isn't the planet it once was, and when Jakkin and Akki finally return to the dragon nursery, their homecoming arouses mixed emotions. Together they've survived the insurmountable, and now they can weather the brutal conditions of Dark After and communicate with the dragons they love. But with this knowledge comes responsibility. What they've learned about survival could transform the planet--or, if entrusted to the wrong hands, bring about its destruction. Akki's insistence that she return to the Rokk to finish her training and begin new experiments drives a chasm between her and Jakkin. Suddenly she finds herself in the midst of a political battle that could claim her life. Only Jakkin can save her. If only he could reach her. . . .

"Sinopsis" puede pertenecer a otra edición de este libro.

About the Author:

JANE YOLEN has written countless picture books and young adult novels to much acclaim. She's perhaps best known for her How Do Dinosaurs . . . series illustrated by Mark Teague and the young adult novels Sister Light, Sister Dark; Briar Rose; and many others. She divides her time between Massachusetts and Scotland.

www.JaneYolen.com

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

1

The copter set down in the front yard of the dragon nursery under a burning sun. The whirling blades raised such a dust storm, Jakkin had to squint to see through the windows, and still the world outside seemed filled with sand and grit.

"Home . . ." Akki sent Jakkin the single word as they landed, her mind decorating the sending with a picture of the nursery: gray stone surrounded by red sky, which lay beyond the sand and grit. She pushed a strand of dark hair back from her forehead and pressed her face against the window.

"Home," Jakkin answered, his sending the blue of the five rivers twisting through tan sands. A cooler reaction, almost as if he were afraid. Only he wasn’t afraid, just being cautious. It was an old habit, but a good one.

As Golden’s slim hands danced across the console of lights, the blades slowed, then stilled. "Good landing," Golden said. Then he turned and grinned at them. "Even if you two don’t know the difference."

Soon the dust settled. A minute more and Jakkin could see through the grit that the landscape was neither as red and gray—or as tan and blue—as their sendings.

Akki laughed—a soft, delightful sound—and Jakkin was reminded of other times she ’d sounded like that. Not many recently; hardly any when they were on the run in the mountains, and none at all in the caves of the trogs. But he remembered them all.

Overhead, Heart’s Blood’s five—Sssargon, Sssasha, Trisss, Trisssha, and Trissskkette—wheeled away, disappearing behind a cluster of trees. In his mind, Jakkin heard them bidding a good-bye, their sendings as bright and fluffy as clouds.

"Sssargon goesss. Sssargon fliesss high," sent the largest, and only male. As ever, his sendings were full of himself. And full of what he was doing now. Dragon time was always now. They could remember a trainer, their hatchlings, their nest. They could be taught enough movements to fight warily in a pit. They could recall where a particularly fine patch of wort existed. But otherwise they lived in the now. Still, they’d been able to hold on to enough to bring Golden to the rescue, to guide him to where Jakkin and Akki had been on the run from the trogs who slaughtered dragons in their caves.

"Thanks, my friends." Jakkin’s sending to the dragons was open-ended, brightly colored. Those dragons were the one constant in Jakkin’s life besides Akki. He hoped they weren’t going far. They linked his past and present, sky and earth, nursery and the wilds. "Good flying, my friends." They were behind the trees, so he couldn’t see them any-more. Couldn’t hear them, either. But just in case, he called out again with his mind, "Fair wind."

A sunny image flittered back to him, actually more like a brain tickle. So at least one of them heard. Probably Sssasha, always the sunny one.

"Here we are," Golden said, flicking the last switches on the console. Turning his head, he nodded at Jakkin and Akki, his river-colored eyes glinting at them. "Home. The nursery. Back where your life begins."

It was unclear if he was making a joke or a simple statement. Jakkin had never been able to read Golden easily, and unlike the dragons’ minds, Golden’s was closed. Of course Jakkin knew that humans had closed minds, but it was something he would have to get used to, now that they were back.

Back home.

Unbuckling his seat belt, Golden stood and stretched. Walking to the copter door, he pushed it open, then flicked a switch that unfolded a set of stairs. Descending the steps backward, he signaled Jakkin and Akki to follow the same way.

As Jakkin climbed down from the copter, he looked over his shoulder. The shock of it all—gates, wood-and stone walls, dusty yard, and the blue water in the weir— seemed overwhelmingly like a dream. So self-contained, so comfortable, so . . . familiar.

He and Akki had been living for a year as outlaws, exiles. Running, hiding, afraid all the time. Well, maybe not all of the time, but a lot of the time. Living in caves, without real beds. Worrying about where their next meal would come from. How often he ’d dreamed about coming home to the nursery, but he ’d never really believed it could ever happen. Too many people with too many grievances were still looking for them. Like the Austar wardens who wanted to put them in jail; the rebels who wanted to kill them outright.

Yet according to Golden, all that was no longer true. At least the rebels were satisfied, the wardens, too. Jakkin set his lips together. Not that he mistrusted Golden, but it seemed too good to be . . .

Now, of course, they had another problem—the trogs in the caves probably wanted Jakkin and Akki dead, because they didn’t want the secret of their caves to come out. And they probably wanted their two dragons back as well.

I regret none of that, Jakkin thought. None.

And none of the past year, either. Oh, it had been a hard year. But, though hard, life in the mountains had given both Jakkin and Akki a taste for freedom. He mulled that over. A taste for freedom.

He hadn’t realized he’d sent it till Akki answered him. "And a hunger for home."

Jakkin nodded. Many times he’d been sure they would die up in the mountains, with only Heart’s Blood’s hatchlings to mourn them.

"And Sssargon to comment on it all." This time there was a bubbling laugh in Akki’s sending.

But home? He’d never really believed they could return.

Reaching solid ground, Jakkin turned, then stared at the dragon nursery. Without realizing what he was doing, he rubbed the thin bracelet of scar tissue on his wrist. The whole of that year in the mountains, he’d tried to keep his deepest longings for the nursery shielded so that Akki couldn’t read his heartache and add it to her own. Now that they were actually back, he felt he should be elated. What he actually felt was . . .

"Scared?" Akki’s sending was tentative, wavery, like the water at the bottom of the falls.

"Stay out of my mind!" he answered, with black and gold arrow points. Sharper than he meant. To soften it, he turned back and reached a hand up to help her down, for she was facing forward as she came down the steps, carefully cradling the young dragon hatchling. Its back and belly were still patch worked with the last of its gray eggskin, and it looped its tail securely around her wrist.

"Thanks," she whispered to Jakkin, and smiled—a tremulous, tentative smile. It said even more than her sending.

"Scared."

This time the sending was not Akki’s. Anxiously, Jakkin looked around. Finally he spotted the sender—Auricle, the pale red adult dragon they’d brought out of the caves before she could be sacrificed by the trogs. She was crouched on the far side of the nursery yard, tail twitching. Not one of Heart’s Blood’s brood, she was possibly a cousin, for her color and sendings were reminiscent of the red dragon’s. He and Akki had gotten her out of the caves just in time. Into the air. Showed her that she could fly, that she could be free.

Auricle’s neck arched downward and her neck scales fluttered, which meant that any moment she might bolt. It’s astonishing that she’s landed here and not actually flown off with the others, Jakkin thought. In her mind, men were not safe. Not even her rescuers. Not Akki. Not me.

"Here?" Jakkin hadn’t meant to send the question, blue, stuttering, but Auricle caught a glimpse of it anyway.

"Here," she answered in the same color, but even more faded. The membranes on her eyes closed, effectively shuttering them.

Jakkin’s thoughts followed one another in quick succession: Auricle was probably here because she wasn’t used to flying, having been kept in that underground prison the whole of her life except for the one time when she was bred. Or perhaps she was here because Akki had the dragonling. Or because she was exhausted. Or because she was . . .

"Scared."

"Gentle Auricle." This time Jakkin’s blue sending was edged about with soft beige billows. "Do not be afraid. We are with thee. Soon thee will be altogether safe." Dragon masters in the nursery always spoke that way to their charges, "thee" and "thou." Jakkin didn’t know why. It was just how things were done. And it certainly calmed them down.

Auricle lifted her head slightly. Her eyes were dark but without the fire of a fighting dragon. Even if she hadn’t sent her fear to him, he would have known it by her posture: the crouch, the lashing tail, the shuttered eyes. She was afraid of the copter, of the nursery, of the memory of the trogs. Well, she had a right to be afraid of the trogs. I’m afraid of them, too.

"Jakkin!" Akki’s voice gave a warning.

He thought she meant he was broadcasting his own fear to the terrified Auricle, but Akki was pointing in a different direction. He turned, caught something out of the corner of his eye, and startled, before realizing that the door of the bondhouse had flown open.

Out ran the fat cook, Kkarina, though it was more like a fast waddle. Her haste was understandable. Any copter was a rare sight at the nursery. Usually the appearance of one meant bad news. Wiping her hands nervously on her long apron, Kkarina stared at Golden, who was standing several steps away from the copter’s blades. Her hands left dark red stains on the white cloth of her apron, stains that could have been either takk or blood.

Jakkin licked his lips, just thinking about a cup of takk, the taste a sudden vivid recollection in his mouth. After a year of drinking boil—that thin soup made from greasy skagg grass—he was more than ready for takk. A whole pot of it. Two whole pots of it! And then he remembered what it was made of—dragon’s blood. "It’s back to boil," he sent Akki, at the same time including a picture of him bathing in a pot of the gray-green stuff. Akki broke into sudden, nervous laughter.

Hearing Akki’s laugh, Kkarina gasped, her face an alarming crimson. She turned and finally registered who Golden’s passengers were. Without warning, she burst into tears and threw her apron up over her head.

"Kkarina," Akki said with a sweetness Jakkin hadn’t heard from her in a while, "Kay—it’s me." That set the old woman to crying even harder.

Still sobbing, the cook lowered her apron, waddled up to them, and gathered up Akki and Jakkin in her massive arms, which threatened to break bones and bring bruises. Kkarina smelled of fresh bread and sharp takk, and something burnt.

She smells of home. His knees suddenly buckled. Home.

"Oh, oh, oh . . ." Kkarina said over and over. "Oh, oh, oh," without letting go of either of them.

At last Akki cried out, "Kkarina, you’re crushing me—and the dragonling." It was true. The old cook had enfolded all three of them in her hard embrace.

Jakkin was incapable of speech.

"Oh, oh, oh," Kkarina said one more time, then let them go.

Again, out of the corner of his eye, Jakkin saw movement, this time on his right. He stepped in front of Akki, to shield her, before realizing it was only old Balakk, the plowman, coming in from the fields. Next to him was Trikko and someone else, a moonfaced boy with stringy blond hair whom Jakkin didn’t recognize.

Balakk had spotted the copter, then Jakkin and Akki, and began complaining even before he was close. They had to strain to hear him. "All those days of mourning," he started. "And me hardly able to work, thinking about you two dead out there in the mountains in the cold. Little Jakkin, little Akki." Though of course neither of them had been little—then or now. Indeed, they hadn’t been little for quite some time. And of course neither of them had been dead, though how was poor Balakk to have known?

Jakkin stared at Balakk’s moonfaced companion, wondering who he was, how he ’d gotten to the nursery. Of course, a year was a long time to be away. People could die, move to the city, be sent offworld. People could grow old, forgetful, take on new apprentices. People could change.

"We apologize for being both alive and well," Akki said, but with a smile to take away the sting of it.

The dragonling resettled itself, curling up so tightly in Akki’s arms, it was almost a dragon ball. At this point, it seemed to regard Akki as its mother.

That would be funny, Jakkin thought, if it weren’t so . . . so inconvenient. The hatchling had imprinted on Akki early and refused to be parted from her.

Trikko winked at Jakkin as if to say the year away had simply been a ploy to be alone with Akki, but then Trikko’s mind always worked that way, from the slightly off-color to the positively filthy. He couldn’t, Jakkin thought, understand real love.

But looking confused, Balakk turned to Golden, spread his hands, palms to the sky. His new helper touched his arm, as if in comfort. At the same time, a roar from the stud barn made them all turn around. A male dragon, sensing roiling emotion nearby, was simply trying to bring the attention to himself. It was an old dragon trick, and as usual, it worked.

"Typical male," Akki said with an exaggerated eye roll, which broke the tension, and they all laughed—even Jakkin.

Only Auricle still seemed perturbed; her sending to Jakkin was laced with red spots that looked a great deal like blood.

"Danger?"

"No danger," he answered soothingly.

"How?" asked Kkarina, meaning how were they still alive?

"When . . . where?" Balakk added, waving a hand.

Trikko’s knowing smile spread slowly across his face.

The answers to any of those questions had to be given carefully. Guardedly. Because there was danger, great danger, even if he ’d just assured Auricle there was none. He and Akki had to be certain that they said the same things, that their versions of the past year’s adventures matched exactly. If not, the future of all the dragons on Austar IV could be a bloody one indeed.

"If the secret gets out—our secret . . ." he thought, adding, "Akki, take care."

"I’m not stupid," she shot back, the red lightning bolt accompanying it lancing through his mind with such force, he almost winced. "But there’s no way it can get out unless you tell. Me—I’m silent as the grave." Facing him directly, so that no one else could see, she lifted her hand to her mouth, then surreptitiously drew her finger across her throat. "See—dead, grave, got it?" Afterward, she smiled broadly at Kkarina, at Balakk and his helper, at Golden, even at Trikko. "First, showers, food, rest. Then we’ll tel...

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