The Dragon Griaule Read Online Free Page B

unhappily – to a man named Pardiel, the foreman of the calciner crew. She did not love him as she did Meric, yet she respected him and felt obliged to consider carefully before ending the relationship. Meric had never known such an introspective soul. She was twelve years younger than he, tall and lovely, with sun-streaked hair and brown eyes that went dark and seemed to turn inward whenever she was pensive. She was in the habit of analyzing everything that affected her, drawing back from her emotions and inspecting them as if they were a clutch of strange insects she had discovered crawling on her skirt. Though her penchant for self-examination kept her from him, Meric viewed it as a kind of baffling virtue. He had the classic malady and could find no fault with her. For almost a year they were as happy as could be expected; they talked long hours and walked together on those occasions when Pardiel worked double shifts and was forced to bed down by his furnaces, they spent the nights making love in the cavernous spaces beneath the dragon’s wing.
    It was still reckoned an evil place. Something far worse than skizzers or flakes was rumored to live there, and the ravages of this creature were blamed for every disappearance, even that of the most malcontented laborer. But Meric did not give credence to the rumors. He half believed Griaule had chosen him to be his executioner and that the dragon would never let him be harmed; and besides, it was the only place where they could be assured of privacy.
    A crude stair led under the wing, handholds and steps hacked from the scales – doubtless the work of scalehunters. It was a treacherous passage, six hundred feet above the valley floor; but Lise and Meric were secured by ropes, and over the months, driven by the urgency of passion, they adapted to it. Their favorite spot lay fifty feet in (Lise would go no farther; she was afraid even if he was not), near a waterfall that trickled over the leathery folds, causing them to glisten with a mineral brilliance. It was eerily beautiful, a haunted gallery. Peels of dead skin hung down from the shadows like torn veils of ectoplasm; ferns sprouted from the vanes, which were thicker than cathedralcolumns; swallows curved through the black air. Sometimes, lying with her hidden by a tuck of the wing, Meric would think the beating of their hearts was what really animated the place, that the instant they left, the water ceased flowing and the swallows vanished. He had an unshakable faith in the transforming power of their affections, and one morning as they dressed, preparing to return to Hangtown, he asked her to leave with him.
    ‘To another part of the valley?’ She laughed sadly. ‘What good would that do? Pardiel would follow us.’
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘To another country. Anywhere far from here.’
    ‘We can’t,’ she said, kicking at the wing. ‘Not until Griaule dies. Have you forgotten?’
    ‘We haven’t tried.’
    ‘Others have.’
    ‘But we’d be strong enough. I know it!’
    ‘You’re a romantic,’ she said gloomily, and stared out over the slope of Griaule’s back at the valley. Sunrise had washed the hills to crimson, and even the tips of the wings were glowing a dull red.
    ‘Of course I’m a romantic!’ He stood, angry. ‘What the hell’s wrong with that?’
    She sighed with exasperation. ‘You wouldn’t leave your work,’ she said. ‘And if we did leave, what work would you do? Would – ’
    ‘Why must everything be a problem in advance!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll tattoo elephants! I’ll paint murals on the chests of giants, I’ll illuminate whales! Who else is better qualified?’
    She smiled, and his anger evaporated.
    ‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ she said. ‘I just wondered if you could be satisfied with anything else.’
    She reached out her hand to be pulled up, and he drew her into an embrace. As he held her, inhaling the scent of vanilla water from her hair, he saw a diminutive figure