Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [49]
Tipper surprised herself by speaking to Wulder before she dipped her spoon in the aromatic dish. As Bealomondore walked away, she thanked her father’s God for the tumanhofer’s friendship. The simple thought brought up a slew of questions. Did she believe what her father had said about Wulder? Was she following in Bealomondore’s footsteps? He believed in Wulder now. Did she believe in Wulder? If she spoke to Wulder but didn’t really believe, did He hear her? She laughed to herself. If He heard her, then He existed, so she should believe. Since she talked to Him, she must already believe in Him. Had this acceptance sneaked up on her?
“So He exists,” she muttered, “but what is He like?”
Rayn burst into a wild chittering that flooded her mind with one-word descriptions.
Creator. Wise. Mighty. Strong. Preserver. Perfect. Sufficient. Holy.
The words kept bombarding her, and with each word came an advance of surety.
Healer. Provider. Just. Redeemer. Shield. Judge. Father. Everlasting. Righteous. Deliverer. Patient. All-seeing, all-knowing, ever-present. Counselor. Prince. King.
One word rushed out of Tipper’s mouth in an awed whisper. “Wonderful.”
Rayn landed on her knee, and she noted the rich purple of his skin. He sang. All the beauty of the kimens’ voices poured out. And again his vocalization contained no words, but lyrics formed in Tipper’s thoughts. She pulled in a deep breath, opened her mouth, and sang with him. A song of praise, then a song of adoration. Her voice blended with his. Soon Librettowit’s baritone joined in with the higher ranges of Bealomondore’s tenor and Taeda Bel’s soprano. Tears tracked down Tipper’s cheeks as she sang a song of her own, a song of devotion, promising her own dedication, allegiance, and faithfulness.
Sometime later, she heard Bealomondore speak. She looked up from where her hands still cradled the bowl he’d given her.
“Princess, your soup is cold. Let me replace it.”
Coming out of a daze, she handed him the bowl. “Did we just sing?”
He smiled. “That was an hour ago.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know. You’re full. But you need physical sustenance as well as spiritual. I’ll bring you hot soup.”
He left and Librettowit came to sit across from her on a boulder half-exposed in the bank of the river.
She studied his face for a moment. She used to think he was ugly and a bit scary. Now she thought he was a kind but gruff friend.
“What happened?” she asked.
He grinned, showing his two rows of huge teeth. “You met Wulder.”
19
Boat Stop
Tipper gasped as pain shot from her foot up her shin and beyond her knee. She braced herself on Bealomondore’s shoulder on her first attempt to stand. Rayn sat on his favorite perch, her head. He ranted in a series of harsh chirps, the words of the diatribe delivered straight to her mind. He’d been protesting her need to rest since early morning, when the questers decided to break camp and head for the boat stop downstream.
Tipper eased herself down to sit once more on the rock that had been her throne all morning. “Rayn says it’s too soon to attempt to walk. Not only was the bone broken, but I also strained numerous muscles in my leg all the way up to my hip.”
The tirade from the little dragon continued as she spoke. His scaly skin turned various colors as he vented.
“He’s saying a lot of other things,” Tipper explained to those around her. “Mostly that we will undo the good he has done as a healer if we don’t listen to his advice.”
Bealomondore’s face wore a mask of doubt. “He’s only a few weeks old. Where does he get all this knowledge and the audacity to boss us around?”
Librettowit removed Rayn from Tipper’s hair and held him close to his chest. He stroked the dragon and uttered a few soothing words. “Calm yourself. We’ll listen.” He glanced up at the other tumanhofer. “Minor dragons are extremely adept at mining the minds of those around them.”
Taeda Bel and Maxon chortled over his pronouncement, but