Blessing

(spinner or freckle)
She had not stirred from her tent for days. Not when Oelanni, the dragon she had been given to, sighed at her deliberate silence and left her alone. Not when Galina, the only friendly dragon in her new clan, tried to coax her out to the fires to eat. Not even when Retton, clan leader and more than twice her size, came and shouted at her, ordering her to get up and help the workers chisel a more permanent den out of the rock beneath the sand, calling her names and taunting her for being old, for being useless, for being good for nothing but labor and not much good at that. Even then she kept her silence, and eventually the imperial had gone away, muttering.

She had been afraid of him, once. Afraid of his snapping, spiteful temper, his quick, casual violence when she disobeyed. Because of her fear, she had followed him to his small, barely-established clan in the desert, though she didn't want to. Had thrown herself into the work of the clan, though her old bones creaked and protested, though she was stiff with pain when she finally dropped down to sleep at the end of the day, though she had hoped, after all her long years of work in the fire clan's forges, that she might finally be able to rest a little. Had given herself to the dragon he chose for her, had become a mother, though she thought she was long past bearing.

But there was nothing more he could do to her now. Not since he had given away her children, her beautiful, speckled, doe-eyed children, in exchange for whatever treasure he could get for them. One to a water clan that wanted new members, two to the priests of the Stormcatcher, to raise them for service to their god.

And the worst of it was that they had been taken from her unnamed. She had not even been allowed to give them that small thing to carry with them through their lives, to remind them of the mother that loved them. She had been carefully considering what to call her children, turning over each name in her mind, weighing one against another. Names were important.

She had never been given one herself, and she felt that absence as an ache behind her breastbone, a gaping hole where something vital ought to be. Sometimes she felt as if she was barely there. As if a dragon's name was a tether, tying them to the earth, to their existence, but someone had forgotten to fix hers in place and she was floating free, buffeted to and fro by the wind. She had been thinking about names ever since she was old enough to realize what they meant. She had considered simply choosing one for herself, had tried them on, one by one, as if they were pretty bits of cloth or jewelry. But none had seemed right.

What she wanted, she'd realized, was for someone else to give her a name. She had wanted that acknowledgement that she was worthy of something so precious, that she was valued, loved. But her parents were distant and flighty, her brother wrapped up in the work of the forge where they had been raised, and eventually she had buried that dream, down in the deepest parts of her heart.

Which meant that her children's names, at least, had to be perfect. But she had waited too long. Her beloved children were lost to her, and so she sat, still and silent, and mourned.

So the disturbance, when it came, barely registered. She heard the shuffle and flap and babble of a large group of dragons at the edge of their tent city, heard the interested murmurs of her clan members, heard an unknown voice begin to speak, but ignored it all. It wasn't until Galina stuck her head in through the tent flap and hissed to get her attention that she even looked up.

"You might want to come out here," Galina whispered urgently. "They're here for you." Then she backed out of the opening and was gone.

A faint wisp of curiosity snaked through her grief. Here for her? Who would care about her? Who even remembered she existed? She levered herself to her feet, joints stiff from long motionlessness, and shuffled to the tent flap, nosing through to see what was happening.

A motley tribe of strangers had gathered just beyond the border of their camp; dragons of all shapes, sizes and colors. A blonde and dusty green tundra dragoness stood at the forefront, almost overshadowed by the huge, heavily-muscled, sand-colored guardian who stood beside her. The rest of the clan clustered behind these two, gazing past them with interest at the tents and her clan members, who stared silently back.

And just behind the tundra, to her astonishment, stood her own brother, peering nervously around through a pair of spectacles. Her heart swelled with unexpected warmth to see him. She had wondered and worried about him, ever since he had walked off into the wilderness, looking dazed and rather lost, as she was being hustled off the other way by Retton.

She didn't remember their first home on the Windswept Plateau, though she knew they had been born there. Her earliest memories were of the forge near The Great Furnace where her clan had been indentured, of the acrid smell of smoke and metal, and the harsh clang of hammers that never really stopped. And one small brother, trembling with exhaustion, pressed against her side in the dark heat of the hollow where they slept.

While she worried and wished and dreamed of another life, he had thrown himself into his duties. He had been proud, oh, so proud, of the beautiful things the fire clan made, things that he had helped to make through the tasks he had been assigned. So she had said nothing of her worries, of her own hardships. Instead, when he dropped down beside her at the end of their shift, she had sung to him, using the beat of the hammers to keep time. She had made sure that he had something to eat, that any injury was cleaned and dressed, that he was safe; and helping him had helped her. It gave her a reason to keep going, when without him she might have lain down and never risen again. He had given her something to look forward to at the end of her day, when thay sat together in the few moments before sleep claimed them and shared the small difficulties and triumphs of their day.

So the years had passed, and, at last, the vein of ore had run out, the furnaces had gone dark, and the servants were carelessly dismissed. Retton had come to take her away, and she was sure she would never see her brother again.

He looked older than she remembered, the lines on his face deeper, the salt-and-pepper streaks in his hair more pronounced. Then again, she thought, raising a claw to her own well-weathered face, she probably looked older too. How he had come to be here, she couldn't fathom.

The slight movement seemed to catch his attention, and his eyes found her. He nudged the blonde dragoness and, when she turned, nodded in his sister's direction, then whispered in the tundra's ear. The tundra nodded, smiling across the gap at her, but had time for nothing more as Retton rushed up, his head bobbing and weaving, an ingratiating smile on his lips.

She knew that smile. It was the same one he had worn when bargaining with her birth clan for her, when he had talked them down and 'round in circles until they had agreed to an insultingly low bride-price for her. The same one he wore when he was faced with a dragon bigger than him, stronger than him, when he knew he couldn't win by force, and so met them with stealth and servility.

"Greetings, welcome," he said, dipping his head in a snaky sort of bob she thought was meant to be a bow. "I heard that you wished to speak to me? My name is Retton, and I am leader of this humble clan." He looked at the big sand-colored guardian, but it was the tundra dragoness who spoke.

"My name is Caoimhe," she said, stepping forward. "And I speak for the Windrover Clan."

"Welcome," Retton said again, switching his attention to her. "What business might you have with us?"

"We had heard that a certain dragoness has recently joined your clan, a pearlcatcher, mottled blue and gray. She has no name that we know of. May we speak to her?"

"Perhaps, perhaps," Retton said, still smiling, his head still weaving from side to side. "What is it that you want with her?"

"She is sister to our clanmate," Caoimhe said, twitching her tail toward the spectacled dragon, "and he has missed her sorely. We hoped that she might join our clan, if that is agreeable to her." The tundra tilted an eye toward her, and a sudden burst of hope made her legs weak. Caoimhe seemed to read her reaction, and turned back toward Retton. "We would, of course, be willing to offer you compensation for any inconvenience," she added.

Retton's eyes gleamed at the prospect of easy money, but he sat back, looking contemplative, as if he were thinking it over. "Well now, this is a good, child-bearing female, and a very important part of my clan," Retton said slowly, giving the group of stranger dragons an appraising look. "It will be a great loss to us if she goes. A great loss. My clan is small, as you can see, and the desert is harsh. We need all the clan members we can get. But I could possibly let you take her for, shall we say. . . thirty thousand gold pieces?"

She gasped. Thirty thousand! It was a ridiculous sum. Nearly three times what he had given to her clan as bride-price for her, not to mention the money he had collected for selling her poor, nameless children. This strange clan would never pay so much. They didn't even know her.

But, "Done," the tundra said, with no hint of hesitation. She turned her head toward the sand-colored guardian at her side, opening her mouth as if to ask him a question.

"Now wait, wait," Retton said quickly, clearly sensing a missed opportunity. "I may have spoken too hastily. As I said, this is an extremely important member of the clan. Perhaps a few more items; some trinkets, maybe, to brighten our dismal days? Some cloth to give protection from the harsh weather here. . ." He trailed off, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

The dragoness glanced back at her clan, where murmurs of displeasure were beginning to break out, then turned back to Retton. "We are a traveling clan, as you can see, and we carry very little with us. I can offer you a share of my own food stores, but there isn't much, and we will need as much as we can get for our journey out of your lands. Everything else we have is the personal property of my clan members, and is not mine to give." The murmurs died away, and the sandy guardian gave the little tundra an approving look.

There was a slight scuffle within the crowd, and a young purple and pink male tundra edged out. He set something at the feet of his leader, a crown made of bits and pieces of bones. "Maybe this will help?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the space between. "I made it."

The tundra leader smiled down at him. "Thank you, Ephah," she said. "That is very generous."

The young tundra beamed, then glanced over his shoulder at Retton's scowling face. His fluffy head went down, his shoulders hunched, and he slunk nervously back into the throng, disappearing from view.

"So?" Caoimhe asked, turning back to Retton. "Have we a bargain?"

Retton snorted. "For a child's ramshackle costume crown? I think not."

The tundra gave him a severe look. "It is a gift given from a generous heart, and not something to be treated with disdain."

"Naturally, naturally," Retton said, ears back and head ducked, his mouth stretching back into that unctuous smile. "I meant no offense, of course. It's only that a clan in an inhospitable environment such as this has little use for. . . Well. Perhaps, then, instead of goods, an exchange? My clan member for yours. An ambassador, if you will."

His eyes flickered over the other clan's members as another indignant mutter went up from them, louder this time. They stopped on a white imperial female, strikingly splashed with red markings. "Perhaps this lovely lady?" he said, his eyes glittering. "I'm sure I could find a place for her in our nests."

There was a shriek of outrage from the red-splattered dragoness, and she lunged toward Retton. The big guardian had to leap over the tundra leader and latch his claws around her shoulders, bearing her down to the ground and speaking to her in a low voice as she struggled. But it wasn't until a blue imperial crouched down beside her and whispered into her ear that she began to calm.

"No?" Retton said coolly. He had started backward at the initial lunge, but after seeing the dragoness tackled tried to act as if he hadn't flinched. His eyes slid over the other dragons again, this time lighting on an imperial male that seemed to have been hiding behind the guardian.

Retton's eyes lit up, a calculating look on his face, as he took in the other dragon's glittering hide and his glowing heart, clearly visible through his skin, pulsing with light at every beat. "You, then?" he said, gesturing to the glowing dragon. He was attempting to sound nonchalant, but she could hear the greed in his voice, calculating what the other dragon might be worth, what his children might be worth, if they also were touched by the Flamecaller.

This imperial's reaction could not have been more different than the red-splashed female. Instead of outrage, he bowed his head and shuffled forward, as if already resigned to being traded away. But the tundra leader stepped in front of him, flaring a wing to stop his advance.

"No," she said firmly. "I do not trade family. We agreed to thirty thousand pieces of gold. Do you accept this offer?"

Retton sneered, but then the sandy guardian stepped up beside her, drawing himself up to his full height. A red female guardian dressed in bone armor joined them, an orange mirror slunk toward Retton, his wings twitching in anticipation, and the red and white imperial flexed her claws and grinned dangerously. The dragons of the traveling clan loomed up around him, and what had looked like a foolish bunch of mismatched, ragtag dragons suddenly seemed much more menacing.

The sneer died on Retton's lips. They may not have looked like much, but they outnumbered Retton's clan, and he knew it. If they chose to attack, she knew he was not sure how many of his own dragons would come to his defense.

"Fine," he snarled. "Take the old creature, then, and much good she'll do you." He turned, and saw her watching from behind the tent flap. "Go, then, useless one," he barked at her. "These dragons have bought you. Perhaps they'll do us all a favor and work you to death."

Spurred on by his harsh tone, she darted from the tent, her tail and wings tucked close against her, and went to the strangers as fast as her shaking old legs would take her. They opened a path and folded her into their midst, her brother coming up beside her and spreading a comforting wing across her back. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the tundra leader lay a clinking satchel down beside the bone crown.

"Thirty thousand," Caoimhe said. "As agreed. The crown we will leave for you as well, in hopes that it will remind you to nurture a more generous spirit." Then she turned and came after the rest of her clan, leaving Retton snarling and spitting behind her.

"That was perhaps an unwise thing to say," the sandy guardian rumbled, turning to walk beside her.

"Probably," Caoimhe agreed cheerfully. "But I couldn't help myself. Still, we probably shouldn't linger. No telling what a dragon with a mind like that will do."

The tundra leader passed by her, giving her a smile and brushing a wingtip across her mottled shoulder in greeting. "Welcome to the clan," she said. "I hope you don't mind a bit of a walk."

"I don't mind," the pearlcatcher said quietly, her voice hoarse from disuse. "Thank you. For coming to get me." She glanced at her brother, then back to the tundra leader. "For paying so much for me. I may not be very strong, but I'm used to hard work, so if there's anything I can do to repay you, whatever you need done - "

"You don't need to do anything!" Caoimhe said. "Goodness, what a notion. You're family, aren't you?" Then she was gone, trotting ahead to the front of the group, the guardian at her shoulder.

Her brother chuckled. When she glanced over, he smiled. "She's like that," he said. "You get used to it. It's good here; you'll see."

She smiled back, a little shakily. "Thank you again," she said. "For coming to find me."

He looked solemnly at her. "I never should have let you go alone."

She stopped briefly and leaned her head against his chest. "It is good to see you, brother."

"Alden," he said, and she looked up at him, not understanding. "My name is Alden now. She gave it to me." He dipped his snout toward the clan leader, where she was walking with the sand-colored guardian.

A brief flash of jealousy shot through her, but she fought it down, shoring herself up with how good it was to see him again. Like coming home, though she had never felt she had a home worth going back to.

But her brother was still speaking. "I've been thinking a lot, ever since I was named," he said. "Even though I had never thought about names before, back at the forge, it makes a difference, to have a name. I feel different. More. . . there, somehow. More real." She blinked, hearing her own thoughts echoed back at her. "And I thought about you," he continued, "and how you've always been everything that mattered to me, all these years, and it seemed unfair, that I had a name and you didn't. So I thought, if you wanted, if you didn't mind. . . I could give you one?"

He glanced at her, unsure, and she could only look back, her heart hammering inside her chest, beating against that empty place beneath her ribs. "What name?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"I thought," he said hesitantly, "I thought Blessing, because that's what you've always been." He glanced at her, but at the look on her face dropped his head again, shuffling his feet. "It's no good, is it?" he said. "Sorry. I don't have much practice at this. I'll think of a better one."

"No," she said, her voice hoarse, clutching his claw in hers. "No. It's perfect."