Spark the Fire

by Melissa McShane

  Rokshan watched her fill the sack halfway. “Once you have money, we can buy stone from the masons in the city,” he said. “They might not even charge much if you can eat the waste stone from their building projects. Or leftover marble from a sculptor’s chisel.”

  “Marble’s not my favorite, but it will do.” Lamprophyre crouched to let Rokshan back on. “Now we’ll see what we can find for Manishi.”

  “She said she would pay double for obsidian, so how about that?” Rokshan said.

  “She wants large pieces, and those are very hard to find. I think we’re better off looking for something else,” Lamprophyre said.

  “Garnet, then,” Rokshan said. “Is that nearby?”

  “Not very far.”

  A hundred beats took them to where Lamprophyre could smell garnet, in a very small gleaning field. Lamprophyre descended and immediately felt discouraged. “There isn’t any harvested,” she said. “We’ll have to break some off, and garnet is harder to glean than granite.”

  “Let’s leave it for now, and see if you can find anything already free from the stone,” Rokshan suggested. “Though it makes me wonder if we’re stealing, coming in under cover of night and snatching what the dragons have mined.”

  “We all take turns gleaning, and all the stone belongs to all of us,” Lamprophyre said, though she had had some furtive thoughts along those lines. It was one thing to help herself to food, and another to take stones to exchange for human coin for her sole use. She told herself her needs in Tanajital were essentially those of dragonkind and suppressed those thoughts. “And it’s not as if we’re depriving the flight of necessary food. They’ll harvest more.”

  “All right,” Rokshan said. He still sounded skeptical, but he said nothing more.

  Lamprophyre took off again and flew straight up, then hovered, considering her surroundings. Manishi wanted something humans hadn’t seen before, which could be anything, and Lamprophyre didn’t feel like playing a guessing game. So she decided to visit the nearer gleaning fields and take her chances. Manishi was, despite her other failings, a clever female, and she could no doubt make use of anything Lamprophyre brought her.

  They had better luck with the next few sites as Lamprophyre flew higher and higher into the mountains. Rokshan was shivering by the time she settled onto a ledge formed by dragons digging into the mountainside to follow a vein of turquoise. “I didn’t think we’d have to fly this high. I’m sorry,” she told him.

  “My fault for not dressing more warmly,” Rokshan said. He rubbed his arms vigorously and stamped his feet. “But we should probably finish anyway, if we’re to return before the moon sets.”

  “I can fly in full darkness, but it’s not safe.” Lamprophyre scooped a handful of turquoise chunks into the sack. “But I—do you smell that?”

  “I can’t smell anything. It’s too cold.”

  Lamprophyre sniffed the air. “Wait here,” she said, and flew off into the darkness before Rokshan could protest.

  She followed her nose to the crisp, clean scent of quartz tinged with something else, something rich and darkly sweet. On a nearly sheer cliffside, she found it: a highly striated bright blue stone embedded within the quartz, striping the cliffside where a recent rockfall had exposed it. She clung to the cliffside with her feet and one hand and brushed the blue stone with her free hand. Kyanite. One of the more popular stones among dragons, sweet to the taste and rich enough that more than a bite led to indigestion. There was plenty of kyanite in the mountains, but this source was closer to the flight’s caves than the ones Lamprophyre knew about.

  She carefully traced along the lines of the elongated crystals with her claws until she could pop one of them free. She would have to let the flight know about this source, but for now, this would be a nice treat for her. She felt she deserved a treat, what with dealing with terrified humans all day. She broke a tiny nibble off the end of the crystal and swallowed it whole. Delicious.

  She flew back to where Rokshan waited. Despite her resolve not to eavesdrop, his emotions were strong enough she could hear his distress at being cold. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling instantly contrite at letting her appetite get the better of her. “Let’s hurry down from here.” She dropped the kyanite into the sack and, with Rokshan mounted securely, skimmed over the peaks for the lowlands as fast as she dared fly.

  Rokshan hunched close to her shoulders and neck, shivering occasionally and making Lamprophyre feel even more guilty. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. You’re warm enough it counters the cold.” Rokshan pressed himself against her neck and embraced her with both arms. “Next time I’ll wear warmer clothes.”

  “It makes me wonder where humans and dragons used to live if they shared the same territory. Dragons are more comfortable at higher altitudes, and humans can endure the heat of the lowlands better than we can. That doesn’t leave much room for compromise.”

  “Maybe they didn’t share territory.” Rokshan’s voice was loud, his head right next to her ear. “Maybe they went back and forth.”

  “It’s not something the stories mention.”

  They flew on in silence for a while until Lamprophyre began to worry about her passenger. “Rokshan, are you falling asleep?”

  “No, I’m still too cold for that, thank Jiwanyil. I was looking at the stars and finding constellations.”

  “What are constellations?”

  Rokshan shifted and sat up. “Dragons don’t know constellations?”

  “I’ve never heard that word before. Is it something in the stars?”

  “Yes. Some stars look like the outlines of pictures, and humans tell stories about the creatures and people in the pictures.”

  Lamprophyre surveyed the sky. The stars still looked like white specks scattered over the black sky. “Humans must be very clever to see pictures in all that.”

  Rokshan chuckled. “Some of the pictures are a stretch. We believe Jiwanyil put those people and animals into the sky as a reminder to us that God is always watching over us, and that the act of putting them there transformed them, so what we see is their essence rather than their actual bodies.”

  “That’s fascinating. Can you show me one?”

  “Maybe.” Rokshan extended an arm. “There’s the Dragon, that should interest you. Can you see those two stars that are very close together? One of them is reddish?”

  Lamprophyre followed the line his arm made and squinted. “I think so. Right between that mountain and Mother Stone?”

  “What’s—is that what you call Nirinatan? The big mountain?”

  “Mother Stone. Yes.”

  “All right. Yes, those two stars. Those are the Dragon’s eyes. Then if you look above them a handspan, there’s another, dimmer star where its head is, and then to the right there’s a half-circle of stars for the wings, and below that and farther to the right you can imagine a line for its tail—see it?—and then you come back around to its belly and up to its nose.”

  Lamprophyre followed his directions. “It doesn’t look much like a dragon. It’s got no arms or legs, for one.”

  “I did say it’s just the essence of a dragon. It’s the story that matters.”

  “All right, tell me the story.”

  Rokshan blew out his breath. “One day, Jiwanyil and Katayan, god of the dragons—”

  “I told you there’s no such person as Katayan. Dragons worship Mother Stone.”

  “I know we have different faiths. But this is how the story goes, all right? Jiwanyil and Katayan were arguing over who was more powerful. Jiwanyil said he was more powerful because there were so many more humans than dragons, and their worship strengthened him. Katayan said dragons might be few in number, but they were individually stronger than the strongest human and that made him more powerful.”

  “Do your gods bicker like children, then?”

  Rokshan stiffened. “That’s a rude thing to say.”

  Stricken, Lamprophyre said, “I apologize.
I didn’t mean to be critical. It’s just that among dragons, Mother Stone is above petty concerns and hatreds, and your gods seem more…human, I suppose.”

  “I’m not an ecclesiast, so I don’t know much about the nature of God. And if dragons worship differently, maybe our stories are wrong. Do you want to hear the rest?”

  “I do.” Lamprophyre felt embarrassed at having criticized Rokshan, even indirectly, and wished he’d stop sounding so angry.

  “All right,” Rokshan said. “Jiwanyil and Katayan decided to have a contest to prove which of them was most powerful. They would each select a champion and set the champions a task, and whichever of them succeeded first would prove the superiority of his God. So Jiwanyil chose Dharan, a king of one of the olden time countries—this was before the catastrophe that we believed killed all the dragons.”

  “Isn’t that your friend’s name?”

  “It’s a very popular boy’s name in Gonjiri. There were at least three Dharans at the academy when we were there.”

  “That sounds like it could be confusing.”

  “Well, one of them went by Dar, and another had the nickname Bruiser because he looked like a side of beef. But Dharan was always Dharan, except to the bullies.”

  Lamprophyre thought about this. How strange, to be called anything but who you were. “I see. So your friend was named after this king from the olden days. I didn’t think humans knew anything about those times.”

  “We don’t have any histories, nothing provable. Just legends like this one. Jiwanyil chose Dharan, and Katayan chose the dragon Parvetil.” Rokshan paused. “Now that I know you, I realize that’s not a very dragon kind of name.”

  “No. We’re named to celebrate our connection to Mother Stone.”

  “Anyway, the legend has several different versions of what challenges the gods gave Dharan and Parvetil. My favorite has them instructed to carry a living flower to the top of Nirinatan—Mother Stone.”

  Lamprophyre laughed. “Even a dragon can’t survive that high.”

  “That’s part of the story. Parvetil could reach the top, but the flower died in his hands. And Dharan could keep the flower alive, but couldn’t reach the summit. So to succeed, they had to work together, Dharan protecting the flower and Parvetil protecting Dharan. And the gods realized that their real power was in the harmony between their creations. So they put the two of them into the sky as the Dragon and the Traveler. The Traveler is to the left of the Dragon, but it’s much harder to make out. I can draw you a picture on a star map sometime.”

  Lamprophyre examined the constellation again. “That’s a lovely story, whether or not it’s true.”

  “It’s some of why I want dragons and humans to live together in harmony. That story promises that we will be stronger together than we are apart.” Rokshan paused. “But you probably shouldn’t suggest the story isn’t true. There are people in Gonjiri who believe every one of our religious legends are infallible, and they’d shun you or maybe even attack you if you denied them.”

  Irritated, Lamprophyre said, “You mean there are humans who would rather believe lies than truth?”

  “Yes. Absolutely,” Rokshan said. “Are you saying dragons aren’t like that?”

  “No, we aren’t. Living where we do, believing in what isn’t true could kill us.”

  “Well, humans cherish our beliefs, and some of us cling so hard to them that they refuse to accept any proof to the contrary. Not everyone, but enough that you might have a problem dealing with them.”

  “And what about you?” Lamprophyre asked. “What do you believe?”

  Rokshan was silent for a few beats. “I believe God exists,” he said. “Until I met you, I believed what we’re taught about the Immanence given flesh to govern the Five Peoples. But I knew—still know—that much of our knowledge was lost in the catastrophe, and if aspects of what we believe are false, the true answers might lie in what we’re missing. So learning that dragons don’t worship Katayan is disturbing, but it doesn’t shake my faith.”

  His calm certainty unsettled Lamprophyre. If he believed in a god Lamprophyre had never heard of, who was to say he wasn’t right, and Lamprophyre’s faith was the false one? She mentally shook off her disquiet. “I think I understand,” she said. “Though I’m confused as to why a human religion might include a god of dragons. Our faith doesn’t say anything about you.”

  “I don’t know. You could ask an ecclesiast, if you could find one willing to give you a straight answer,” Rokshan said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Rokshan sighed. “All the ecclesiasts I know, starting with my brother Khadar, seem to delight in giving ambiguous answers. If I were more cynical, I’d say it’s because they want people to depend on their intercession with God, and ambiguity gets them repeat business. But maybe it’s just that the mind of God is confusing enough that ordinary humans can’t understand it, even those devoted to worship. I don’t know.”

  Lamprophyre slipped lower to follow the Green River as it snaked through Tanajital. “Mother Stone doesn’t talk to us, either,” she said. “Maybe our faiths have more in common than I thought.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The smell of fresh meat roused Lamprophyre the next morning. Yawning, she propped herself on her elbows and regarded Akarshan, who walked a short distance in front of the wheeled wooden platform drawn by three other humans. She normally woke just after dawn, but the sun was a few handbreadths into the sky and she still felt she could sleep a thousand beats longer. Her night flight had kept her up later than anticipated. She yawned again and said, “Good morning, Akarshan.”

  “Good morning, my lady ambassador,” Akarshan said with a bow. “I hope you slept well.”

  “Yes, it’s quite comfortable here,” Lamprophyre said. It wasn’t entirely a lie; the ground was no harder than the stone of her cave, and the warmth of the lowlands made up for the openness of the coliseum. “Thank you for bringing food. Your cows are delicious.”

  “You’re welcome.” Akarshan hesitated. “Ah, my lady?”

  “Yes?” Lamprophyre picked up the remainder of the cow by its hindquarters and sniffed it, enjoying the smell of raw meat that was almost as good as cooked meat.

  “I was wondering—we wondered—how you cook your meat?”

  “Hmm?” Lamprophyre lowered the half-carcass. “With fire, of course.”

  “I guessed that dragons breathe fire, yes. I meant that, well, we cook meat, too, but we butcher it first and cook the pieces. If you don’t mind, I’d like to observe how you do it, to see whether we might prepare the meat more efficiently.”

  Lamprophyre wasn’t sure it mattered, but Akarshan’s thoughts were clear; he cared very much about treating her well, and it warmed her heart that this near-stranger, not even of her kind, might go out of his way to satisfy her needs. “If you want,” she said. “But only female dragons breathe fire. Males spit acid from their second stomachs.”

  She raised the carcass well away from Akarshan and the humans accompanying him, drew in a breath to mingle with the fires in her second stomach, and exhaled slowly. Fire bathed the carcass and licked over her hand, gently warming her scales. The smell of cooked meat rose from the cow, tantalizing and delicious. Lamprophyre turned the carcass to let the fire touch all of it, gently breathing in rhythm to keep the fire burning steadily. When the meat was fully cooked, she patted out the remaining flames with an edge of her wing and set it on the ground.

  “Astonishing,” Akarshan said, walking toward the cow. “A perfectly contained burn, and you roast the meat without burning it. But I can see it’s unevenly cooked in places—I’m guessing you prefer underdone to overdone?”

  “Yes,” Lamprophyre said, mystified at his curiosity and his sharp, analytical thoughts. “Raw meat isn’t as delicious, but it’s better than burned. Do humans eat raw meat?”

  “No.” Akarshan prodded the carcass. “I have an idea, if you’ll allow me an experiment, my lady?” Gone was any residua
l fear he might have displayed. His intent, curious thoughts amused Lamprophyre, not because she thought Akarshan ridiculous, but because he reminded her of her clutchmate Orthoclase, though Orthoclase’s passion was for blending stones to achieve new taste sensations. She wished she could introduce him to Akarshan.

  “I don’t mind if you experiment,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’ll show you this evening,” Akarshan said. “We’ll leave you to eat in privacy now.” Jiwanyil only knows if these three will be rude, it’s not like dragons have table manners, or maybe they do and I’m the ignorant one.

  Guided by Akarshan’s thoughts about his companions, Lamprophyre waited for the four humans to leave before tearing into the rest of the cow. It was just as delicious as it had been the day before, so that hadn’t been hunger making it seem the best meal she’d ever had. She ate contentedly until the cow was a pile of cracked bones and scraps, then cleaned between her teeth with her sixth claw and let out a pleased burp. A couple of bites of granite would round her meal out, but she felt full enough she didn’t want to move, even to retrieve the sack she and Rokshan had filled the previous night.

  Of course, that was the kind of thinking that led to indolence, and indolence led to laziness, and Lamprophyre hated laziness. With a groan, she got to her feet and stretched her wings to their full extent, then stretched her arms and flexed her tail as well. The sack was half a dragonlength away, only a few steps, and she collected it and began removing her haul. Some of the stones she’d found for Manishi were fragile enough they’d been fractured by being stowed with the more robust stones, but Lamprophyre figured if Manishi didn’t want them, they would make a nice snack for her.

  She entertained herself by sorting the stones into piles until Rokshan arrived, out of breath from running. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No, I’m just later than I wanted to be after visiting the market—that’s a lot of stone. I didn’t realize we’d found so much.” Rokshan crouched to pick up a chunk of emerald between thumb and forefinger. “I think I have a sense for the value of these stones. This would be valuable to an ordinary lapidary, even without its potential for magic.”