The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [155]
“Esspess?” she said suddenly in a rusty whisper.
I gaped, for I had begun to suspect she was mute. I had even thought this might be why she had been abandoned.
I pointed to myself. “Elspeth,” I said distinctly. “Elspeth.”
Then I pointed to her.
“Elspess,” she said obligingly. I grinned, wondering if my name was the only word she would say. I pointed to myself again. “Els-peth.” I pointed to her. “Dragon … Dra-gon.” Later, when she could talk, she could choose a more suitable name.
She frowned. “Drang-om.”
I nodded. She pointed to me. “Elspess.” She pointed to herself. “Drangon.”
“Close enough,” I said. “Food?” I asked, rising slowly. Alarm flared in her eyes. I mimicked eating, and hunger replaced her fright.
Summoning Darga and warning him to move slowly, we made our way back to the camp. Whenever Dragon stopped, I would mimic eating. I sent a probe to Jik, telling him to warn the others not to do anything to frighten her.
Approaching the light of the fire that glimmered through the trees, Dragon hesitated. I had to coax her the last few steps with exaggerated mimicry of how delicious the food would be. When we were close enough to smell Kella’s stew, she sniffed at the savory odor like a hungry animal. The others were sitting very still around the fire, fascinated, for this was the first time they had seen her. To my surprise, she barely looked at them. Her eyes darted about hungrily. Kella had set a pot to the side, and I took this up and held it out to Dragon.
The firelight showed her as an emaciated scarecrow with a mop of filthy hair, clutching the blue underskirt to her chest.
Taking the pot, she squatted unceremoniously and plunged her filthy fingers directly into it, scooping the stew to her mouth with ravenous dexterity.
Kella grimaced and softly wondered aloud whether she had not already poisoned herself with dirt. I was filled with compassion rather than revulsion. I had never imagined that the Talent I had come so far to find would be a half-wild savage who could barely speak. I had imagined a calm discussion ending in an offer of a refuge.
No one spoke while she ate with much lip smacking and slurping, and when she was finished, she licked out the pot, sighed gustily, and sat back on her haunches.
“Well,” Kella said faintly. Dragon’s lambent eyes turned to her.
“Meet Dragon, our newest recruit,” I said with a broad smile.
For the rest of the night, Dragon sat close by my feet, listening to our talk as if to exotic music. She had the disconcerting habit of staring fixedly at first one, then another of us, as if she were trying to memorize our faces. She would not allow any of the others to come near her but eventually fell asleep against my knees.
The next morning we crossed the Suggredoon at dawn. I had expected it to be difficult, but the hardest part was persuading Dragon to hide with Brydda under his enveloping cloak in back of the cart. Jik, Idris, and Reuvan rode the horses, and Kella and I led Avra aboard the ferry. It took only a few coercive pushes to ensure that our papers and the cart were given the most cursory inspection before the soldierguard turned to the few other passengers. I had found a description of myself and Jik in the soldierguards’ minds, as well as a far clearer picture of Brydda, but a coercive push ensured that we did not fit any of those descriptions. Once we had left the ferry on the other side, we took a rutted path straight up the banks of the Suggredoon, which Brydda said would bring us right to the ford. But the road was full of potholes and great stones, so the cart fairly crawled along. Even when the rest of us got out and walked, Avra could not move much more swiftly. Pavo alone remained in the cart, though its jolting must have hurt his poor, weary body.
Brydda grew more silent as the day wore on and seemed increasingly preoccupied. Finally,