In The Lair of the Draca (Book 2)

In the Lair of the Draca (Book 2) Chapter 60: The Jeweled Planet

Dee hesitated outside of the school-house.

There was no longer any big brother to admonish him to attend; no Mother to gush about his achievements in studies about the stars and solar systems that made up the Universe; and no Father to be waiting for him when Dee stepped back into the lodge with his empty lunch pail, eyes gleaming, all set to grill him about the name of this nebula or the formation of such-and-such galaxy.

There was, really, no family at all.

Why should I attend? I've walked Waru to the door and ensured that she got inside safely. What's keeping me from missing a day? What if I do nothing at all-- nothing except, perhaps, call on an old friend?

Dijaq decided then that he'd made his decision. Waru, whom he'd taken to watching more closely than usual ever since Malaraq had weaseled his way back into the Matron's home, was not only quieter than usual, but seemed dejected and sullen. It hadn't detracted from her appearance (for she was still as coiffed, beaded, and plaited as ever) but during the entire meandering walk from the living lodges to the school house, Waru had stared at the ground. Nary a word had left her lips.

At the door, she paused to kiss him on the cheek, and Dijaq had permitted it: her lip stain smelled wonderful, and it was not altogether unpleasant...being kissed by Waru, that was. But unlike the other boys, he had not fallen victim to her charms, and nor would he ever.

Ziuta was the one for whom he pined with his whole being. He loved her, would live for her-- and if the circumstances demanded it, he would die for her.

Dijaq peeked in the school-room door, and Waru, who was just settling in at her seat, turned and looked at him one last time. She raised an eyebrow, almost as if to say: aren't you coming?

Dijaq fled.

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Delighted to see that too-familiar wisp of slender, columbine smoke spiraling out from the ceiling of Pomoq's lodge, Dee ran up the cobblestone path, slung his satchel onto the porch beside a three-legged stool, and pounded on the door.

"Pomoq! Are you alright?" he called anxiously.

"Why wouldn't I be, child? You know the routine-- come in, come in!" came the muffled reply.

Thrilled at the healthy reediness of the old man's voice, Dijaq flung open the door and stepped inside. Lit incense sticks the color of vermillion, paprika, and alabaster assailed him with their wonderful-smelling aromas, while a fragrant tea bubbled, unwatched, over a small fire in the hearth. As though anticipating Dee's arrival, Pomoq had laid out two mats, two mugs, two eating bowls, and a saucer of bush grubs (the squirming white larvae were hellish to look at, but once smoked over a fire had a firm, crab-like consistency that made them favorites among the little children, who liked to skewer them on sticks).

There was a separate hearth beside the fire that looked as though it had been packed with a small mound of dirt. Delicious-smelling smoke rose from the mound, reminding him of his People's favorite way to roast a wild-grouse; feathers plucked and lightly salted while it roasted to perfection beneath the ground, absorbing some of the soil's loamy flavor.

But it was Pomoq who made the boy's jaw drop. Lowering himself onto one of the mats, Dee stared. The hunched old man stood in front of the lodge's north wall, an orange cloak draped around his bony shoulders as he peered into the widest length of glass Dijaq had ever seen. But he was not using the glass to preen; instead, he stood before it with a short piece of ivory chalk and was inscribing the most unusual-looking runes Dijaq had ever seen. There were lines, right angles, ovals, cylinders, squares, odd symbols, and even what looked like tiny crosses. The most breath-taking was an etching of a great, thick-rimmed shape that resembled two eating plates stacked upon the other. Dee rather thought it reminded him of the Disc of Secrets.