Spark the Fire

by Melissa McShane

  Ohar nodded. He picked up Rojital and said, “How do we get out of here?”

  Now the thoughts were joined by footsteps, loud but tentative, and humans approached the embassy. Torches shed a warm orange light over the courtyard. “Let them go, monster!” someone shouted. “We’ll burn this place to the ground if you don’t!”

  Lamprophyre sighed. “You realize there are children in here, right?” she shouted back. “You’ll hurt them if you set the embassy on fire.”

  Anamika laughed. “That’s right!” she called out. “That was a stupid thing to say.”

  “Anamika!” someone else said. “Anamika, are you all right? Is Varnak with you?”

  “We’re fine. Come in and meet the dragon,” Anamika said.

  Lamprophyre, alarmed, said, “Oh, Anamika, that’s not a good—”

  “Let them go, monster!” the first voice shouted.

  “He’s not a monster, he’s a dragon, and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone,” Anamika said. “So you should come inside and say hello, because we’re not coming out until you do.”

  “That is not my idea,” Lamprophyre said, deciding not to address the issue of her sex. “Children, go to your parents.”

  “It’s not fair that they all think you’re a monster,” Anamika said. “Or that they’re blaming you for an accident. Besides, my mam says it would do the ecclesiasts good to walk on their own two feet as Jiwanyil intended, so I don’t know why they’re all so upset about his litter burning.”

  Lamprophyre drew a deep breath. “Anamika, Ohar, you—”

  “Anamika?” someone said from the entrance. A human male stood there, his hand on the edge of the entrance. His gaze fell on Anamika, and he said, “You’re well. Thank Jiwanyil. And Varnak—both of you come home this instant!”

  “The dragon is friendly, Papa,” Anamika said. “I forgot his name, because it’s long, but he’s nice and he wouldn’t ever burn anything on purpose.”

  “My name is Lamprophyre,” Lamprophyre said. “And I’m female.”

  Papa took a few steps into the embassy, looking like a deer creeping up on a pond that might contain predators. “Lamprophyre?” he said. “But you—that is, you look dangerous.”

  “I’m not. I haven’t hurt these children, have I?” Lamprophyre gestured at the children. “I want humans and dragons to live together peacefully. And I don’t understand why humans are so terrified of me. What kind of awful stories do you tell about us?”

  “I don’t know,” Papa said. Behind him, two more human males appeared in the doorway. “You burned the Fifth Ecclesiast’s litter.”

  “Not on purpose. Stones, haven’t any of you humans sneezed before? It’s not exactly a controllable reflex.”

  Anamika laughed. Papa’s lips twitched in a smile. “I guess it’s not,” he said. “How uncomfortable that must be for you.”

  “Fire doesn’t hurt me, so it’s only uncomfortable and not worse,” Lamprophyre said. “I was just telling your children they should go home. I hope you weren’t too worried. They were just playing here.”

  “They’re not getting away with this without punishment,” Papa said. “Anything might have happened to them. It’s good fortune nothing did.”

  “Well, I would never hurt them. Though I think Rojital landed wrong on his ankle when he was running. It doesn’t seem broken, but you might look at it, just in case.”

  “We will.” One of the other males came forward and took Rojital from Ohar. The child yawned and laid his head down on the male’s shoulder.

  “We can come back to play with the dragon, can’t we, Papa?” Anamika said.

  “Not any time soon. You’re restricted to the house for the next three days,” Papa said. He glanced at Lamprophyre, and added, “After that, we’ll see.”

  “I’d love for them to visit again,” Lamprophyre said. “Though I understand about punishment. I used to go storm flying as an adolescent, against my mother’s command, and I was in so much trouble when she found out—but then I got older and realized how dangerous it was. So it was hard to stay angry when she only wanted to protect me.”

  Papa’s eyes widened. “Yes, exactly. I didn’t know—but of course you have a mother, everyone has a mother. I just didn’t realize how similar we are.”

  Lamprophyre chose not to drive this point home. He’d already figured it out.

  After the humans left, she settled back down in the quiet darkness of the embassy. Someone had removed the twinkling lights while she was asleep the first time, and the moon had set, making everything peaceful and soft-edged. She’d always liked the darkness, probably why she’d loved storm flying so much, and Tanajital at night was warm and comforting. Or maybe it was just having reclaimed her good name even to such a small extent. Sweet hopefulness carried her off into sleep again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “In writing, we assign sounds to letters,” Dharan said. “Some letters make more than one sound, which can make reading confusing. But for the most part, it’s one letter, one sound.” He picked up the long pointed stick he’d brought with him on a cart containing several mysterious objects and drew an elongated shape in the packed earth of the courtyard. “This letter represents the ‘L’ sound that begins your name. So when you write your name, this is the first letter you write. You try.”

  Lamprophyre accepted the stick and awkwardly drew the same elongated shape. “It’s not very tidy,” she said, trying again.

  “Everyone’s handwriting is terrible when they’re just beginning,” Dharan said. “Now I’ll write your whole name, and we’ll sound out the different letters.” He took the stick and wrote a very long string of letters. Lamprophyre, dismayed, copied it as best she could. She’d never thought she’d envy Flint of the boring name, but his had to have fewer letters than hers.

  “L, A, M, P,” Dharan began.

  Lamprophyre moved her lips, committing the symbols to memory. “Is this how you learned to read?”

  “Me? No. To hear my parents tell it, I woke up one morning when I was three and asked the meaning of some word in a pamphlet my father had brought home. I have no memory of not being able to read.” Dharan made that jerking motion with his shoulders. “But I’ve never had any success in teaching people to read the way I do, so I’m teaching you the regular way.”

  “I see. What does this mean?” Lamprophyre moved her shoulders up and down.

  “A shrug? You don’t ask simple questions, do you?” Dharan said. “Shrugging can mean several things. It can mean you don’t know, or you’re indifferent—that’s if someone has asked for your opinion on two choices—or it can mean disdain for an issue. Just now, I meant it to indicate I didn’t know exactly how I learned to read.”

  Lamprophyre shrugged again. Such a versatile gesture. “What are the other letters?”

  “Where were we? R, O…um.”

  “Um? That’s not a sound in my name.”

  “No, but your name has a complicated spelling. These two letters, when they’re written together, make the F sound.”

  “But you said that one was P.”

  “It is, by itself. But together with this one, it’s F.”

  Lamprophyre sat back on her haunches. “How do you know it isn’t spelled with a F symbol? It’s a dragon name!”

  “It’s also a human word. A lamprophyre is a kind of igneous rock, and this is how that word is spelled. Since you said dragons are named for stones, I’m certain this is how you should spell your name.”

  “But—” Lamprophyre hesitated. Dragons had given humans language, so the word was really a dragon one, not human. But humans had invented writing, so they were the ones who’d decided to give the rock she was named for a complicated, confusing sequence of letters. On a third hand, it would be impossible to learn to read human writing if she insisted on putting letters together the way they made sense to her. “All right. P and that other letter make the F sound. Why is that?”

  “I can’t explain that now. It’s a l
ong explanation and it would sidetrack this lesson. Better you concentrate on reading.” He returned to pointing at her name. “This letter means more than one sound. In your name, it sounds like the word ‘eye’. R again. And this one—God’s breath, I should have started with ‘cat’ and ‘run’—this one is the letter E, but in your name, it doesn’t make its own sound, it’s what makes the letter Y sound like ‘eye’. I’m sorry it’s confusing. Does it help to know you have a beautiful name?”

  “I do?” Lamprophyre was startled into looking at Dharan. He had his attention on the letters.

  “Yes. The sounds are a pleasing combination, and the letters look nice together. And in no time, this will all be natural to you, and you’ll look back and be amazed there was a time when you couldn’t read.”

  Lamprophyre traced the letters of her name again. “I look forward to that.”

  “All right. So your first assignment is to practice writing your name.” He walked over to the cart and dragged a large, smooth piece of slate nearly half a dragonlength long and wide out of it with some effort. Lamprophyre took it from him and looked at it closely. It didn’t look entirely natural, as it was missing the smooth ridges that showed where a slate was cut from the stone. She ran her palm over it and marveled at how even the surface was.

  Dharan held out a cloth sack the size of her fist and withdrew a chunk of white chalk from it. “Do dragons use chalk in their art?”

  “Sometimes. We prefer a more permanent medium. Sculpture, mostly.”

  “Well, the point of this is that it’s impermanent. You’ll do your writing practice on the slate using the chalk. Write until the slate is full, then clean it off and do it again.” He took his own piece of chalk and wrote her name neatly at the top of the slate, then used a cloth to wipe away the letters. Lamprophyre set the slate down, propping it against the wall of the embassy, and accepted the cloth from him. So much tidier than using your hand.

  Dharan wrote her name again. “That’s for you to refer to. Don’t erase that until you’re comfortable writing your name. Now.” He tugged on another large slate until Lamprophyre pulled it off the cart for him. “Thank you. I brought the biggest slates I could find and could barely manage them. Until Rokshan gets here with the books I need, we’re going to learn the alphabet.”

  “What’s that?”

  Dharan swiftly wrote letters across the slate. “I told you letters represent sounds. Well, each letter also has a name. Mostly the names are similar to the sounds they make. When we write the letters in a certain order, that’s called the alphabet. It helps us remember the letter names and sounds, and it’s useful for organizing writing.”

  “Alphabet. Why do letters have names if they have sounds?”

  “Because of what I said about some letters making more than one sound. If I were to tell someone how to spell my name—that is, what letters make my name—I would tell them the names of the letters in order, D-H-A-R-A-N, and not the sounds.”

  “I understand. Because they can hear the sounds, but that doesn’t tell them which letters were used. Like how my name has P and that other letter instead of F.”

  “Right!” Dharan smiled. “You’re going to learn this quickly, I predict. Now, the first letter in the alphabet is A…”

  The sun was high in the eastern sky when Rokshan appeared, bearing an oblong sack slung over his shoulder. “Has Lamprophyre learned to read yet?” he asked.

  “It’s no joke. She’s a very quick study,” Dharan said.

  “I’ve memorized your alphabet and most of the sounds the letters make, and I can read some words,” Lamprophyre added. “But dragons have very long memories, and compared to all the poems and histories I know, this isn’t too hard. It’s remembering all the words that will be complicated.”

  “There’s no rush,” Dharan said. “Did you bring the books, Rokshan?”

  “Just don’t let anyone know you have them,” Rokshan said, setting the sack carefully on the ground. “It’s not likely anyone will notice they’re missing, and they’re not valuable enough for anyone to care, but you know how librarians get about their responsibility to the wisdom of the ages.”

  Dharan’s face squinched up in a funny way. “I know. You should have told them you wanted them so you could make history teaching a dragon to read.”

  “Sneaking them out was more fun.” He opened the sack and withdrew a book, then two more, handing them to Dharan. Lamprophyre regarded them curiously. Dharan had explained briefly that humans wrote words on scrolls or books to preserve them, but somehow she’d thought something so important would be bigger, or at least decorated with gold or something. These were just plain fat squares that smelled of animal skins and dust. The biggest was the size of Dharan’s chest, and the smallest was half the size of Lamprophyre’s palm.

  “These are for you to use,” Dharan said to Lamprophyre. “The big one is a kind of abecedary. Usually that just means the alphabet written out, like we did on the slate, but the ones made for beginning readers have lists of words beginning with each letter of the alphabet. This one is special because each word is illustrated.” He opened the book, awkwardly due to its size, and pointed. “This word is ‘apple’—see the picture?”

  Lamprophyre squinted. It was very small, but clearly an apple. “What a clever idea!”

  Dharan closed the book and set it on the ground. “This other book is for you to practice your reading. It’s a story—I’m afraid it’s a religious text, but it’s the simplest and clearest book I know. And you’ll learn about our religion, which has some good stories.”

  That didn’t sound as interesting, but Lamprophyre nodded.

  “Finally, I asked Rokshan to bring…what is this?” Dharan said.

  “You said get a history from the catastrophe to now,” Rokshan said.

  “Yes, but I meant something scholarly. Not this watered-down popular nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense. It’s accurate and complete while still being readable. And since I’m the one who’ll be reading it, I decided that was more important.”

  Dharan shook his head. “Fine. Lamprophyre, this one is too complicated for your skills, so Rokshan will read it to you. It’s like I said, a human history from the time we started keeping records as opposed to legends. And Rokshan’s probably right that you’ll find it more interesting than a scholarly text.”

  “Rokshan will read it? Not you?”

  “I came to Tanajital to meet you, but I can only afford to stay if I take work with the academy as a visiting lector.” Dharan shrugged. “So Rokshan will read to you in the afternoons, when you’re not busy being an ambassador.”

  “Don’t worry, Lamprophyre, I may not have patience as an instructor, but I’m a very good reader,” Rokshan said. He walked over to the slate and tapped Lamprophyre’s name in Dharan’s handwriting. “Is this how it’s spelled? I thought there was an F.”

  “See?” Lamprophyre said triumphantly.

  “Rokshan, don’t you dare confuse her,” Dharan said. “Lamprophyre, don’t, for the love of Jiwanyil, ask him to spell things for you. He’s terrible at it.”

  “You’re going to convince her I’m bad at everything,” Rokshan complained.

  “You are not,” Lamprophyre said with some heat. “You’re good at flying and explaining things clearly, and I’m sure you could have beaten Khadar to a pulp if it had come to that.”

  “Yes, I heard about Lamprophyre’s accident,” Dharan said. “Did you really set Khadar’s robes on fire?”

  “No, I didn’t. Is that what people are saying?” Lamprophyre wished she could sink into the ground.

  “People are saying a lot of things, all of them false, and I’ve spent the morning countering them,” Rokshan said. “The good news is that someone else is countering them too. I think you made friends last night, and they’re speaking in your defense.”

  That made her feel better. “So it’s not too bad?”

  “It’s bad, but it won’t stay that way,
and that’s good.” Rokshan prodded the abecedary with his toe. “Aren’t these going to be hard for Lamprophyre to read? They’re so small compared to her.”

  “I have a solution for that,” Dharan said. He climbed into the cart and picked up a wrapped bundle that was nearly as tall as he was. “Where will you do most of your reading and writing, Lamprophyre?”

  “Inside, I think. I don’t want anyone staring at me.”

  Dharan maneuvered the bundle through the door and set it to one side of the cave—the hall, Rokshan called the big empty space. “This is very valuable, so it’s better you keep it indoors, anyway,” he said. He untied the ropes holding the cloth around the bundle and gathered cloth and ropes into his arms, revealing something Lamprophyre had never seen before. It was a piece of curved glass set in a metal oval, fastened to two wooden supports on its skinny ends. The supports held it up like legs and were themselves connected by another piece of wood that attached at a perpendicular angle to their bases. Lamprophyre could see how that would keep the thing steady.

  She prodded the glass carefully with her finger, and it rotated just a bit. “What is this?” she asked.

  “It’s a magnifying lens, the biggest in Tanajital. A former academy student made it as part of her work on optics, though knowing her I think she did it just to prove she could. The academy doesn’t have a use for it, but it’s too valuable to destroy, so it was easy for me to convince them I deserved to borrow it.” Dharan held the abecedary open beneath the glass. “Take a look.”

  Lamprophyre looked through the glass, and gasped. The letters that had formerly been almost too small to read now were as long as her finger and clearly visible. “That’s amazing. How does it work?”

  Dharan looked at Rokshan. “Maybe she should enroll at the academy, if that’s the kind of question she usually asks,” he said. “Lamprophyre, the curve of the glass alters how the light strikes the page, which changes the appearance of whatever’s behind the glass. Humans know how to create curved glass that makes letters—anything, really—as big or as small as we want.”