The Book of Fire by Marjorie B. Kellogg Page A

life her destined guide was most likely to listen to seriously. Since it wasn’t her at the moment, she simply . . . became that person.”
    “Oh, well . . .”
    “No ‘oh, well.’ Think about it. It’s brilliant, and it works.”
    “Then what does he do for her?”
    “He sings her a human shape. He gives a dragon a way to work in the world of men, as you do for Earth. You just have different ideas of how to go about it. Are Earth and Water the same dragon?”
    “Of course not!”
    “Then why should they require the same dragon guide?” Heading for the door, Raven glanced back. “Do you think, sweeting, that it might be time to have that little chat with Rose?”
    Erde thought about dragons and methodologies for a while. It was true she’d been stubborn about her own assumptions. And it was true that N’Doch had surprised her. He’d come through in the end. Perhaps she was going to have to accept the possibility that there would always be people in the world doing things that she just could notunderstand. Armed with that disturbing notion, she gathered up her courage and returned to the Great Hall, where N’Doch was taking another refill from Raven’s pitcher, the redheaded twins were clearing platters and tableware, and Doritt was tossing a huge log into the fireplace. Erde prayed that the dragon was warm enough out in the big hay barn, finally getting the rest he deserved. She went to claim the empty seat beside Rose.
    She listened quietly while Rose finished up a discussion with Linden, Deep Moor’s healer, about how long her supplies of herbs and physicks would hold out if the snow continued unabated into the true months of winter. Linden’s jaw-length flaxen hair draped like separate strands of spider silk around her white cheeks, hiding her worried glance in the softened shadows of lanternlight. Her long-fingered hands moved restlessly in her lap. Erde found this more worrisome than all the facts and figures of their conversation. She’d come to rely on Linden being a very calm, still person.
    “Well,” Rose concluded finally, “we shall do what we must.”
    Linden nodded, then offered Erde a small, silent smile and padded away, gathering up a stray armload of dirty dishes as she went.
    Rose watched after her soberly. “She fears our medical supplies won’t last past January. Her final harvest is usually in early November, and here it is, just September. Even if we do get a thaw, who knows what will be left alive under all this snow.”
    Erde thought of the parched peanut fields around Master Djawara’s home in what N’Doch called “the bush.” “Where I just came from, there’s not enough water. Not anywhere, except the salty oceans. And here there’s too much. And there, they kept saying how it was so much hotter than usual.”
    “And here, too cold. It’s all gone out of balance, hasn’t it? I blame this priest and the evil he’s stirred up.” Rose let a pensive moment fall between one thought and the next. “Which reminds me, Raven tells me you’ve had some dreams I should hear about.”
    “I guess.” Erde loved Rose, but often found her directness and air of authority intimidating. Even her belovedgrandmother, a powerful baroness required to work in the world of men, had been somewhat more . . . feminine in her approach.
    “What kind of dreams?”
    “Um . . .” Erde found a sudden reason to fuss with the hem of her sleeve. “Do you really think Brother Guillemo has brought all this wrong weather upon us? Is he truly a sorcerer?”
    “You know his power as well as I do, child, perhaps better. But we were speaking of dreams. Come on, now, out with it.”
    Erde brushed invisible crumbs across the worn planks of the table. “Well, they’re . . . umm . . .”
    “If you told Raven, you can certainly tell me.”
    “I didn’t tell Raven . . . not really. Well, I told her I’d seen the hell-priest in my dreams, which is true,