Spark the Fire

by Melissa McShane

  Behind the six robed humans came two—no, four very large males bearing the same kind of cage King Ekanath had been conveyed in. These were dressed in robes like the others, but white instead of yellow and gathered at the waist by a red cord. The smell of human sweat drifted to Lamprophyre’s nose, making her wonder how heavy the cage was that carrying it was such an exertion.

  The cage, unlike the king’s, had fluttering green fabric hanging down on all sides, obscuring its contents. Lamprophyre stood at her full height to look beyond it. More yellow-robed humans with the same bowl-shaped haircut walked behind the cage. They all held sticks of varying lengths to their lips and appeared to be blowing into them. She realized that was the source of the music—hollow sticks or reeds, not voices or birds. Humans were so clever to adapt a natural phenomenon to make music. It was something she needed to tell the flight about, because there was no reason dragons might not do the same.

  When the first six humans reached the end of the street, they spread out around the courtyard, their torches adding to the light but dimming the brightness of the twinkling stars. Irritation took the place of Lamprophyre’s nervousness. Whoever they were, they had some nerve distracting her guests from the beautiful display Rokshan had arranged.

  The males carrying the cage walked past the robed figures into the center of the courtyard and set the cage down on its legs. The music-making humans came to a halt just where the street met the courtyard, and the music swelled until it was impossible to hear speech over it, if anyone had been talking. Lamprophyre waited, watching the cage. The music built to a magnificent crescendo, then cut off mid-phrase—or at least what a dragon would consider incomplete.

  The green fabric twitched, and a human male emerged. His hair was cut in a more familiar fashion, much like Rokshan’s, and he wore a long green robe that shone with gold and silver threads over black shirt and trousers. The thread made pictures, but the only one Lamprophyre recognized was a tree like the ones beside the river, with drooping branches. The male shook out his robe and advanced on Lamprophyre, taking slow, measured steps that in a dragon would indicate a willingness to fight.

  When he was less than half a dragonlength from her, he opened his mouth—and Lamprophyre said, “Welcome! It’s Khadar, isn’t it? Rokshan mentioned you. I’m sorry if I don’t address you properly, but I don’t know much about human religion. Thank you for coming!”

  Khadar shut his mouth and blinked at her. He smelled strongly of flowers, not one type of flower but a whole field of mingled blossoms, mixed with a sharp, pungent scent as if those flowers were on fire. Lamprophyre’s nose tickled, and she held her breath, wishing she dared pinch her nose shut—but that was one gesture she’d learned was offensive to both humans and dragons. Finally, Khadar opened his mouth and got as far as, “Oh, great Katayan’s child—”

  “I’m sorry to correct you, it’s very rude in dragon culture to correct someone, but I feel it’s important to let you know there’s no such person as Katayan,” Lamprophyre said. “Dragons worship Mother Stone. Maybe you and I could discuss our religious faiths sometime.” This was fun.

  “No Katayan—” Khadar once again stopped mid-sentence. Lamprophyre risked listening to his thoughts and caught only a fragment, challenge me on my faith, monster, before the rest of the crowd drowned him out with their mingled excitement, awe, and residual fear and she had to block them again.

  “My lady ambassador,” Khadar finally said, “on behalf of the Archprelate of Gonjiri, I welcome you to Tanajital.” He took a few steps closer, bringing his terrible scent with him. She wished he smelled of stale sweat like the cage carriers instead. “Legend falls far short of the truth.”

  “That’s very kind,” Lamprophyre said, overriding him before he could go into more detail. The itching had become painful, and her nictitating membranes slid shut involuntarily, blurring Khadar’s form. “Please, have something to eat, and I’d love to converse further.” She took a step backward, hoping to escape the smell.

  Khadar followed her. “We eat only food that has been prepared to the glory of Jiwanyil,” he said, “but I would like to discuss our faith. Clearly you are in need of religious guidance.”

  “I’m sure Lamprophyre would be happy to teach you what dragons actually worship,” Rokshan said, startling Lamprophyre; he was standing practically on her left flank, and a wrong step by her would have flattened him.

  Khadar didn’t stop chasing Lamprophyre, though he did turn his attention to Rokshan. “Good evening, little brother,” he said, his voice smooth and bland. “I understand you’re assigned to serve the ambassador. Fitting, don’t you think?”

  Lamprophyre could tell it was an insult, though it made no sense to her. She was walking practically blind now, circling the courtyard trying to get away from Khadar. “Rokshan and I work well together,” she managed, breathing shallowly through her mouth, “and I…I…oh, Stones.”

  With that expletive, the sneeze that had been building within her for the last several beats rolled down from between her eyes and through her nostrils and emerged in an explosive blast that echoed off the nearest buildings. Another sneeze, and another, rocked her on her tail. Nothing she did could contain them, and they gradually deepened until she felt she might sneeze her insides out.

  As a final tremendous sneeze built within her, she felt to her horror the burning sensation that said more than a spray of liquid was coming. Unable to speak, she waved her arms wildly, hoping the humans would know to get out of the way, and then put her hands over her nose in a gesture she knew was futile. She drew in a deep breath, sneezed from the very depths of her soul, and expelled burning hot fluid in a cataclysmic jet. Most of it clung to her fingers, but some spurted past her hands to strike the green fabric of Khadar’s cage.

  The cage went up in flames.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Screams and hoarse exclamations rose from the watching crowd, and humans fled, shoving each other in their desperation to escape. “No, it’s all right!” Lamprophyre shouted. She dove for the burning cage and tried to wrap her wings around the fire, but the cage’s shape was awkward, and the more she snatched at the flames, the more they spread.

  Khadar was shouting things she couldn’t understand over the roar of the fire. Lamprophyre looked around for a solution and found nothing, no convenient stream, no bowl for catching rainfall, not even a container of soup that might drench the flames. She tried once more to stifle them, but halfheartedly, because she knew futility when she saw it.

  “—uncontrolled, ravening beast!” she finally heard Khadar say. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. All that work wasted because she couldn’t hold in a sneeze.

  “Watch your mouth,” Rokshan said in a low, harsh voice. “Lamprophyre is a person, not a beast, and it’s your own damn fault she sneezed. Would it kill you not to bathe in that scent for once?”

  “People don’t breathe fire when they sneeze, Rokshan,” Khadar snarled. “It’s a dangerous creature, and I’m going to tell Father to have it expelled.”

  “Call her ‘it’ again, and one of us is going to need that litter to get home.”

  Lamprophyre turned to regard the brothers, who stood face to face with barely half a handspan between them. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But it was an accident.”

  Khadar glanced at her before going back to glaring at Rokshan. “Was it?” he said. “Or was this your plan—gather the people together, lull them into security, and then attack?”

  “God’s breath, Khadar, are you really that stupid?” Rokshan shouted. “You’ve ruined everything we worked for, and you want that to be Lamprophyre’s fault?”

  “It’s my duty to protect this city—”

  Rokshan laughed bitterly. “Your duty. As if you cared about duty when you could live in luxury instead. When’s the last time you delivered a prophecy?”

  Lamprophyre focused on Khadar, listening to his thoughts now that he and his companions were the only ones in the courtyard. �
��You have no right to criticize me,” Khadar said, and thought even better than I’d planned, easy to get rid of it now.

  “Somebody has to,” Rokshan began.

  “Stop,” Lamprophyre said in her deepest, most sonorous voice that wasn’t a shout. She couldn’t give away her ability to hear thoughts to Khadar, not when he was clearly her enemy. “Khadar, I don’t know what you believe about dragons or why you came here tonight, but I want you to leave now. This is dragon territory and you don’t belong here. What happened was an accident on both our parts, and among dragons, that would be enough for both parties to forgive. Clearly it’s not like that with humans, but I’m not going to pretend you weren’t partly responsible just because that’s a human tradition.”

  She drew in a deep breath and regretted it when her nose began to tickle again. She pinched it shut, not caring how it looked, and said, “Rokshan, please don’t attack your brother. Unless he won’t leave, in which case I think you’re entitled.” She turned her back on both of them and trudged into the embassy.

  She settled on the floor, curled around herself, and rested her head on her arms. Khadar wanted her gone and she didn’t know why. More to the point, she didn’t know if he was involved with the egg thieves. Fanishkor, disaffected Gonjirians, the ecclesiasts; it was too much to believe they were all part of a single conspiracy, but if they weren’t, that meant she had more enemies than just the one. She sighed, wreathing her head in smoke. She should have kept Khadar there, kept him talking so she could hear his thoughts, but she was miserable and overwhelmed and not in the mood to do the rational thing.

  She didn’t hear the sounds of a fight breaking out, just shuffling and murmuring, and after a few dozen beats, Rokshan sat down beside her. “He’s gone,” he said. “Without a fight, unfortunately. I dearly wanted to punch his smug face.”

  “I know, but it wouldn’t have helped anything.” Lamprophyre let out another puff of smoke. “He wants me gone from Tanajital. Probably from Gonjiri entirely.”

  “You challenged his faith. Maybe that was inevitable.”

  “No, I mean he wanted me gone before I said anything. He was thinking how it would be easy to get rid of me, and how he’d had a plan to do it, but me setting random things on fire was even better.”

  “What plan?”

  “I didn’t hear that part, just that he had one. Could he be behind the egg thieves?”

  Rokshan propped his chin in his hand. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. If he wants you gone, that’s the opposite of wanting dragons to attack Gonjiri. He’d be more likely to be behind a plot to keep dragons away from us entirely.”

  “So I have a second enemy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Maybe this was too much to ask of Tanajital’s people. I’m big and frightening and that’s all some of them will ever see.”

  Rokshan put a hand on hers. “You were making progress with some of them. And eventually they’ll realize that you didn’t burn anything important and that you tried to put out the fire.”

  “Maybe.” She sighed again. “I’m going to sleep now, and when I wake up, all this will have gone away.”

  “We can only hope,” Rokshan said, and stood. “I’ll come by around noon, after your lesson. I’ll spend the morning trying to reverse some of the damage that idiot Khadar did. Did you hear anything else from his thoughts?”

  “Just that he was very upset about me telling him his religious beliefs are false, some of them, anyway. That was a mistake. Nobody likes being challenged on things they hold dear.”

  “True. But it’s not as if Khadar actually believes them. More likely he was angry because you indirectly challenged his power and prestige. The ecclesiasts can’t afford having people doubt their teachings in one respect, because what’s to stop them doubting everything else?” He waved, said “Good night,” and was gone.

  Lamprophyre tucked herself into a more comfortable position and closed her eyes. Things would look better in the morning, they usually did, but at the moment, it was hard to imagine how that could be true.

  She dreamed of flying, as she often did, of soaring over the uplands and the mountain heights, though they were strangely warm instead of bitingly, beautifully cold. Then she was curled up in her cave, and birds were walking over her, chirping to each other in a language she almost understood. Straining to comprehend, she woke to find there were creatures climbing across her body, sliding down her back and tail and then clambering up her thigh to do it again.

  She almost rose up and brushed herself free of the creatures when she realized she could understand their language and their thoughts. Human children, climbing on her as if she were made of stone. “I’m going to attack the dragon!” one of them shrieked.

  “No, me!” said another.

  Someone else’s thoughts were incoherent laughter—that was the one sliding down her tail. She held her breath and remained as still as she could manage. One of the children was thumping her chest, an oddly pleasant feeling just short of a tickle. Then someone touched her wing membranes, and that really did tickle. She let out a gasp, and the children all screamed.

  “Wait!” she cried out, but they were gone—no, one remained, lying on the floor and clutching his ankle. Lamprophyre rolled to a sitting position and examined the child. “Are you hurt?”

  The child nodded. Water streamed down its face—tears, Lamprophyre had heard of tears, something creatures with no nictitating membranes did to protect their eyes. They also meant sadness or pain, she remembered. “You hurt your ankle?” she said.

  The child nodded again. Its thoughts were a blur of pain and fear. Sorrow struck Lamprophyre’s heart, but she pushed it away and said, “Let me see.”

  She wasn’t sure what she could do for the child, but to her surprise it sat up and extended its leg to her. Its ankle was so tiny. She gently felt along the bones and watched its face screw up in pain. “Did that hurt?”

  The child paused, then shook its head. That was a gesture that meant the same whether you were dragon or human. Lamprophyre released it and said, “What were you children doing in here?”

  The child hugged its knees to its chest. “Fight the dragon,” it said. “Are you going to eat me?”

  Again Lamprophyre reflected in exasperation on the human assumption that everything wanted to eat them. “Of course not,” she said. “Why, are you delicious?”

  The child giggled. “No!”

  “Then obviously eating you would be stupid.” Lamprophyre heard more thoughts approaching, filled with fear and determination and a couple of odd snatches of words: fight him and save Rojital. Pitching her voice to carry beyond the entrance, she said, “Your friends must be cowards, to leave you in my clutches. I didn’t think humans abandoned their kind to save their own skins.”

  “I’m no coward!” shouted another child who darted through the entrance. “I’ll fight you!” The child was followed by two others, all of whom took up aggressive stances, fists raised, legs akimbo. Lamprophyre regarded them with amusement.

  “There, that’s better,” she said. “Now, which of you would like to fight me first?”

  The fists lowered. The first child said, “We’re not afraid of you!” but its voice lacked the confidence it had had moments before.

  “I’m so glad,” Lamprophyre said. “It seems everyone else is, and I haven’t done anything to hurt anyone.”

  “You started the fire that tried to burn the Fifth Ecclesiast alive,” one of the other children said.

  Lamprophyre groaned inwardly. It didn’t matter whether Khadar had started that rumor, or it had grown up spontaneously; either way, she now looked like she’d started a religious war. “That’s not what happened—were you here to see it?”

  The children shook their heads.

  “Well, for the moment let’s not talk about how foolish it is to make assumptions based on hearsay. I sneezed. A lot. The Fifth Ecclesiast has a really disgusting scent.” The children gigg
led, and Lamprophyre smiled. “And sometimes when dragons sneeze, their second stomachs expel matter. Fire, or acid. I’m really embarrassed because I haven’t set anything on fire with a sneeze since I was a dragonet. I accidentally sneezed on Khadar’s carrying cage, and it caught fire. I tried to put it out, but I couldn’t. And I feel terrible about it, mostly because I thought people were getting used to me and it frightened them. Haven’t you ever done anything you wish you hadn’t?”

  The children exchanged glances. Then the one in the lead, the tallest of them, approached Lamprophyre. “So you wouldn’t set things on fire on purpose?” it asked.

  “Not to hurt anyone, no. I use my fire mostly to cook my meals. Isn’t that how your parents do it? So you know fire doesn’t have to hurt people.”

  The child nodded. “My name is Anamika. Do you have a name?”

  “Of course. It’s Lamprophyre.”

  “That’s a really big name.”

  “I know. My mother liked the sound of it.”

  Anamika smiled. “Are there many dragons where you come from?”

  Lamprophyre sat up, making Anamika’s eyes go wide. “Very many. Not as many as there are humans in Tanajital.”

  One of the other children crouched beside the wounded one. “Oh, get up, you big baby, it’s not that bad,” the child said. The wounded one stood, wobbled a little, but got its balance. The child continued, “I’m Ohar. This is my brother Rojital. Anamika and her brother Varnak live next door to us.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ohar. Do you live near here?”

  Ohar pointed. “Right down the street. Very close.”

  Lamprophyre heard more thoughts, these much more agitated, and her heart sank. “Close enough that your parents might be looking for you?”

  The children groaned. “Hide us!” Anamika urged. “We’ll get in trouble if they find us!”

  “Not as much trouble as I’ll be in for hiding you,” Lamprophyre said. “I guess you sneaked out when you were supposed to be sleeping, right?”