Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [37]
“How do you know?”
“He made a pledge…and He sent Paladin.”
“You must think I’m awfully stupid.”
“No, Kale. How can you know things that haven’t been told to you? Where you lived, no one knew the things you are destined to know. You’re special, Kale. Wulder’s guiding you on a special path.”
“I don’t know if I want to be special, Dar.”
Dar grinned, put down his empty mug, and pulled out his flute. “Yes, you do, Kale. I want to be special, Leetu wants to be special, you want to be special. Wait until you meet Paladin.”
“Why? What difference will that make? And besides, someone like me is not likely to meet Paladin.”
Under Dar’s breath, the flute let out a short, happy trill of notes. A mischievous grin stole over his face.
“Should I tell her?” he asked no one in particular. Then he blew a light warble from his silver fife.
Yes! I want to know!
Kale pressed the egg hard against her chest until the smooth roundness of it hurt. She reached with her talent and gasped as she encountered a wild rhapsody in Dar’s mind. His joy flowed from him and washed over her. With so much excitement buzzing through her, she could no longer just sit. She jumped to her feet and stood awkwardly for a moment like a marionette just before the puppeteer moves her strings.
Then the music lifted her and directed her steps. At first it felt as if someone else was helping her keep time to Dar’s melody. Someone else controlled each leap and pirouette. Gradually, she knew she was the one responding to this extraordinary elation. She danced around and around the bower.
Dar’s jubilant song poured out through his silver flute. It filled the air and flowed into Kale’s heart. Within the rhythm of the music, she embraced freedom, freedom to respond to the presence of Wulder.
Out of the shadows of the trees came kimens. First one and then three, then six, and then a dozen. Light as down feathers, they swirled in and out of the branches, around Kale and Dar. They fluttered in the dappled light of sunbeams filtered through layers and layers of intertwined cygnot branches.
Kale paused to watch the dizzy dance spiraling around her. She’d seen kimens occasionally in River Away. Then they were dressed in greens and browns, the floating material of their clothing fluttering with each breeze. These dancers wore pale colors glimmering with a special light that for moments rippled in rainbow hues before gleaming white, silver, yellow, and gold.
Kale looked down at her moonbeam cloth cape. It too had taken on the wondrous colors. She lifted the egg high above her head and rejoined the dance. Nothing was more important than expressing the celebration sweeping through her heart, her veins, her whole body.
She became aware of the kimens’ singing. Their voices blended with the notes of the flute. She wanted to understand the phrases, but she didn’t recognize the language. She wanted to sing the song, but she didn’t know the words. Still, nothing dampened her joy. She danced.
The melody soared and then calmed. Like autumn leaves floating on gentle zephyrs, the dancers drifted, skimmed, fluttered, and settled on the cygnot floor.
With her eyes closed, Kale lay still. The last notes of heavenly music faded and floated away through the branches above. She breathed rapidly and deeply, but her body was not tired. She listened to the leaves rustle, or was it the kimens’ tiny breaths? The sound faded, and she knew without looking that the delicate creatures had left the arbor.
She could feel her own heartbeat, the thump, thump in a vein in her neck, the steady pulse in the palm of her hand.
Her eyes flew open and focused on the egg.
“Dar,” she called. “He lives. The egg is hatching. Dar, come quickly.”
15
ONE DRAGON
“What should we do?” Kale asked.
Dar sat down beside her in tailor-fashion with his legs crossed. “You’re the one who read the book.”
“Wait, just wait,” said Kale. “That’s all we can do. The book said to be patient.”
“Sounds like good advice.