A roil of movement stirred the river. Creatures surfaced.
“They’re mine!” Bee’s face had the shine of a mother’s smile. “Don’t you recognize them?”
She ran outside.
I halted in revulsion by the garden door. Eleven silvery-white eels the size of children humped up onto the shore, blowing and wiggling as they snuffled along the grassy bank. They were the ugliest things I had ever seen, except for their startling gem-like eyes. The dragon huffed a smoky breath that stopped them in their tracks and compelled their attention. Every pair of glowing eyes fixed on him.
A twelfth grub squirmed unremarked onto the shore farther down the bank, beyond a small wooden pier to which a rowboat was lashed. A hawk dove down to investigate its movement. The stray hatchling’s sapphire eyes tracked the hawk’s flight as the bird settled on the bare branch of a tree. The raptor and the grub studied each other. Then the hatchling lunged forward. In the time it took me to suck in a shocked breath, not sure who was going to devour whom, it changed.
As if the tide of a dragon’s dream swept its unformed body, it molted its ungainly larval form and rose as a large hawk, beating for the sky. The true hawk followed.
I dragged my gaze away from the birds to see the eleven hatchlings molting their ugly grub forms. They transformed into smaller versions of the scaled beast. The air around the headmaster shivered as if rippled by a blast of heat. The shining black body of the beast turned in on itself and became that of the man we knew, thankfully in his clothes. A brief circle of dense rain splashed around him, as if he were raining away the water he had earlier absorbed.
In a frenzy of imitation, the grubs also changed, although they did not change size.
Eleven youthful persons stood dripping wet and naked on the shoreline, with no thought for modesty. They had the size and features of innocent boys who are no longer children but not yet grown. They surged forward to crowd around Bee, touching her, patting her, sniffing her.
Maestra Lian came striding down the lawn. With brisk gestures and snapped words she herded them away from Bee and toward the house.
Bee ran to me, her face so opened by joy that she seemed ready to fly. “Did you see, Cat? They know I’m the one who hatched them!”
She glanced past me, and the brilliance of her gaze softened. I turned. Kemal stood in the garden door, watching the youths flock into the house. An expression of unimaginable grief seared his pale features.
“Maester Napata, I hope we have done nothing to disturb you,” said Bee in the same tone she might use to coax a wounded dog out of its hiding place.
He muttered, “What have you not done to disturb me?”
“Are you a dragon, too?” she asked, more lightly.
He flushed, glancing away, then took in a sharp breath and faced her. “This is the only body I have ever been able to wear. Since it is a man’s body, can I then call myself a dragon?”
Her frown usually presaged a scold, but she spoke in a mild voice. “If you hatched as these others did, out of a nest in the spirit world, then aren’t you a dragon regardless of what body you wear?”
“The others say I am too much of a weakling to change,” he muttered in a low, shamed voice.
“I hope they shall say no such thing where I can hear it!” she retorted. “I am sure there is some other explanation.”
The headmaster walked into the garden alcove. “There is an explanation.”
He ushered us back into the study. There he sat at the desk and sipped at his cooling tea as if our conversation had not been interrupted by the arrival of eleven—twelve—inhuman creatures out of the unseen smoke of the spirit world’s fathomless ocean.
“As with all that is born into the spirit world, our essential nature is one of change. When a hatchling first emerges into the mortal world from the Great Smoke, it does not comprehend that it has a true nature, the kernel of its being. That is why we must meet our young ones at the shore, so we can shepherd them into their true shape. Kemal came to shore among humans. It is remarkable he was not killed the moment he breached the water, for that is usually what happens if a young one wades onto land where no kinsman is there to aid it. But he was not killed. For all his childhood he thought he was human. I am not sure if the family that took in the small orphan child did so because they felt pity for him or because they knew in time they would be able to receive a substantial pension from the emperor. In the Empire of the Avar, any child with the white skin and hair we call albino must be handed over to the emperor. Those who bring such a child forward are rewarded, while those who try to hide such a one are punished. I found Kemal in a sacrificial lot being made ready for the Wild Hunt. It is known among the Avar that in rare cases these albino children are dragons, although most such albino children are perfectly human. However, that is why the empire exposes them on Hallows’ Night, because the Hunt will always kill one of us if it can.”