Spark the Fire

by Melissa McShane

  “Maybe. I suppose he might believe humans attacking you for destroying a village would bring the dragons down on Tanajital.”

  They sat in silence for a few beats. The still air, muggy and hot the way it got before a storm, clung to Lamprophyre like a second skin, though one soft and fragile like human skin instead of hard like dragon scales. It had rained briefly around midnight, but the respite from the humidity had lasted only a thousand beats. She flexed her wings to create a breeze, but the air shifted only slightly and then settled back over her. Flying would be a relief, but she’d have to stay close to Tanajital or risk Rokshan being punished for her so-called crime.

  “What worries me,” Rokshan said, “is if Harshod isn’t in Tanajital, we have no way of capturing him. You promised not to leave.”

  “And you can’t capture him by yourself. Could you bring soldiers?”

  “Maybe, but I think, after last night, Sajan won’t be cooperative, if only because he doesn’t want to fight with Tekentriya. I had to talk fast to justify sending soldiers to Kolmira.”

  “Do you think she’ll actually try to find what’s left of the printing press that isn’t actually in that village?”

  Rokshan blew out his breath. “I don’t know. I thought she was fair, for all her other faults, but last night it seemed she was acting out of fear.”

  “She was afraid, but she was also convinced she was doing the right thing,” Lamprophyre said. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

  “Maybe.” Rokshan shifted position to lean back. “But it still leaves us with two problems instead of one. Keeping the dragons from attacking Gonjiri, and proving you innocent of murder.”

  “Both of those problems would be solved if we could find Harshod,” Lamprophyre said. “I think it’s time we asked for help.”

  “Help?” Rokshan’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t mean—”

  “We can’t leave Tanajital, we can’t get help from the soldiers, and we can’t go from building to building searching for Harshod,” Lamprophyre said. “We need magic.”

  “I was afraid that’s what you had in mind,” Rokshan said. “Who should we go to? Sabarna is easier to work with, but she doesn’t have the right kind of knowledge. And Manishi isn’t trustworthy.”

  “What kind of knowledge do we need?”

  “Sabarna would understand the theory of how to find someone whose appearance you don’t know, but Manishi would be more likely to already have an artifact that would do it.” Rokshan sighed. “And I have to return the pendant we used to find Abhimot, anyway. It concerns me that she hasn’t demanded its return yet.”

  Lamprophyre nodded. “We’ll just have to keep our eyes on her.”

  “Right. And in truth, I’m more worried about her cheating us out of money than I am about her being one of Harshod’s people. Particularly if Tekentriya is involved. Manishi gets along with her even less well than she does me.” Rokshan got to his feet. “I’ll send a message asking Manishi to meet us here. Do you mind if I promise her more stone as an incentive?”

  “I don’t know when I’ll be in a position to get it, but all right.”

  She washed her hands and face with water from the rain barrel, which was low despite the midnight rain, and went into the embassy to wait. Waiting was hard. She was used to taking action, to making a decision and then doing it, whatever it was. Having to depend on humans to be her hands and legs, so to speak, frustrated her even as she was grateful for Rokshan and Depik and her servants. She lay on the floor and pillowed her head on her arms, closing her eyes and listening to the voice of the city.

  Footsteps roused her from her doze—so embarrassing, to fall asleep in the morning, but the city was hot and the air was saturated with water and she was used to the cool, crisp mountain breezes stirring her blood. She blinked at Dharan. “I forgot you were coming,” she said.

  “I brought some new books,” Dharan said, “and more chalk. This approaching storm is enough to make anyone sleepy.”

  Lamprophyre yawned and got to her feet. “I love a good hard rain,” she said, “though flying through a storm is dangerous.”

  “But you’ve done it.”

  “Naturally.” Lamprophyre smiled. “What books did you bring?”

  “Another epic poem,” Dharan said, “by Ganghir, since you liked the first. A history of Tanajital. And—” He withdrew a large, awkward tome from the satchel— “a book about the constellations and their stories, with pictures.”

  Lamprophyre accepted it from him and turned the pages. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, “and so colorful.” The pictures glowed bright as dragons, and gold accented the large capitals heading each page.

  “Be careful with it. There aren’t many copies in existence.” Dharan set the other books in a pile next to the ones she’d already read and liked enough to keep.

  “This looks like it would take a long time to copy, if someone had to write it all out,” Lamprophyre said.

  “They don’t. Here.” Dharan gently took the book from her. “Notice how each letter is identical to all the others like it? This is printing. The pictures are drawn once, then duplicated by magic and bound into the text. The only thing done by hand is the gilding on the capitals.”

  “That’s amazing.” Lamprophyre extended a hand to touch a picture, but withdrew it before making contact. “Why aren’t there more copies?”

  “The magic that duplicates the pictures is extremely expensive. There’s another, more common edition made without them, with just the writing. But I liked the illustrations enough I bought this copy for myself.”

  “Thank you for loaning it to me. It’s so beautiful.” Lamprophyre accepted it back from him. “Though I suspect you’re trying to convert me, with all these stories of Jiwanyil.”

  Dharan laughed. “I can see how it might look that way. But to me, these are just stories. I’m not sure I believe in God.”

  Lamprophyre closed the book more abruptly than she’d intended. “Not believe in God? How is that possible?”

  “There’s too much randomness and evil in the world,” Dharan said, “and the ecclesiasts who claim to speak for Jiwanyil are mostly corrupt, selfish, and lacking in the kind of wisdom I’d expect from people supposedly close to God. There’s never been a prophecy that couldn’t be explained by coincidence.”

  “What about the flood Rokshan told me about? The one where your people ignored the prophecy, and thousands died?”

  Dharan shrugged. “No one ever mentions that the dam in question was old, and its caretakers had warned the king more than once that it needed repair. It’s not as if its breaking was a huge surprise.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.” Lamprophyre felt uncomfortable. “I don’t know that I believe in your God, either. At least, I suppose he could exist alongside Mother Stone, but I’m not sure how.”

  “People believe in God because they don’t believe in themselves,” Dharan said. “And, not to be offensive, but I think that applies to dragons, too.”

  Lamprophyre stiffened. “That is offensive.”

  “Sorry. Like I said, it’s not something I’m sure of—it’s just a possibility.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Rokshan said as he entered the embassy. “He’s a known heathen. The reverends are afraid of him, and more than one ecclesiast has declared him apostate.”

  “What’s a reverend?”

  Rokshan took the bag of chalk from Dharan and extracted a lump. “Reverends are ordinary people who preach the doctrine of Immanence,” he said, drawing a large, lopsided oval on Lamprophyre’s slate and chalking the word REVEREND inside. “Anyone can be a reverend so long as he sticks to revealed doctrine and doesn’t preach anything new. They also perform weddings and funerals.”

  He drew a smaller oval above the first, with a different word. “Ecclesiasts speak for Jiwanyil in prophecy and proclaiming new doctrine. They have to prove they have the capacity to hear the word of God spoken to their hearts and minds. There aren’t as many ecclesi
asts, obviously.”

  “So Khadar can prophesy?” Lamprophyre had trouble imagining any deity willing to share their wisdom with Khadar.

  “Technically, yes. Though I’ve sometimes wondered if he pulled some kind of trick to get around that requirement.” Rokshan drew a very small oval above the other two. “Then there are the High Ecclesiasts, one for each way in which the Immanence took shape within the world. Meyari, God of the Living World. Nirinatan, God of the Living Stone. Vrelok, God of Beasts. Katayan, God of Dragons. And Jiwanyil, God of Humans.” He chalked tiny pictures around the oval Lamprophyre could barely make out. Rokshan had a dragon’s eye for detail; each picture was surprisingly recognizable despite being sketched with only a few sure strokes.

  “So is the Archprelate one of the High Ecclesiasts?” she asked.

  “No, he’s at the top.” Rokshan drew a tiny human form above the ovals. “He’s responsible for receiving revelation for all of Gonjiri.”

  “If that’s what he’s doing,” Dharan muttered. Rokshan shot him an irritated look.

  “But what about other countries?” Lamprophyre asked. “Don’t all humans have the same religion? Why isn’t he Archprelate for the world?”

  “Yes, Rokshan, why not?” Dharan said with a smile.

  “Shut up, Dharan, you’re a heathen,” Rokshan said without malice. “No country wants to be dictated to by religious prophecies from another country. So every country has its own Archprelate, who guides that country and receives revelation solely for it. Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the idea that God’s word might be different for different countries, but there are a lot of people in Gonjiri who’d like to believe ours is the only true Archprelate. Same for Fanishkor and Sachetan and so forth.”

  “And this is why Rokshan and I get along despite differences of religious opinion,” Dharan said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “He’s got a flexible mind and a willingness to hear the other side.”

  “I just think it’s hubris to imagine humans have it all figured out,” Rokshan said. “Lamprophyre, I sent a message to Manishi, asking her to come here when it’s convenient. I hope that doesn’t mean midnight.”

  “Manishi? Why do you want to talk to her?” Dharan asked, making a sour face Lamprophyre had no trouble interpreting.

  “Trade,” Rokshan said. “Lamprophyre brings her stone and she pays us for it.”

  Lamprophyre felt uncomfortable about lying to Dharan, even indirectly. It wasn’t likely he’d tell anyone the truth about their search, and even less likely he was somehow involved with Harshod. But it was an old dragon saying that three could keep a secret if two of them were dead, and she didn’t intend to take chances, even with a friend.

  “I can practice reading until then,” she said.

  Rokshan cleaned off the slate. “I can’t believe you’ve only been reading for a few days. I had no idea dragons were geniuses.”

  “She has a phenomenal memory,” Dharan said. “She’s learning the words as pictures of themselves rather than as collections of sounds. I wish I could teach a few more dragons to see if Lamprophyre is unusual.”

  “Maybe, if humans stop being afraid of us, more dragons will come south,” Lamprophyre said, but she knew as she spoke it was a vain hope. She settled her new book with the vibrant illustrations under the lens and hoped Manishi would come soon.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Manishi arrived before noon, just as Dharan was preparing to leave. “I remember you,” she said. “You’re one of Rokshan’s academy friends. Whatever happened to the one I rejected as my apprentice?”

  “Baleran returned to Sachetan, and he rejected you, if you’ll recall,” Rokshan said.

  Manishi shrugged. “All I know is he was a terrible apprentice and I was glad to be rid of him. Mother must have been mad to think it was a good idea.”

  Dharan and Rokshan exchanged glances, their faces expressionless. Lamprophyre thought about listening to their thoughts, but she’d promised herself not to eavesdrop on her friends, however tempting it might be.

  “I’ll see you in two days, Lamprophyre,” Dharan said. “That should give you time to read those books for us to discuss them. I’d also like to take down some dragon poetry, if you’re willing to recite.”

  “That would be nice, yes. I’d like to be able to share our poetry with humans.”

  Dharan nodded, clasped wrists with Rokshan, and left. Manishi watched him go. “Handsome fellow,” she said. “And not stupid. If I intended to marry again, I might choose him.”

  “How very generous of you,” Rokshan said. “Thanks for coming. We have a proposition for you.” He’d dragged the chairs in from the dining pavilion and now gestured to one of them, inviting Manishi to sit.

  “A proposition?” Manishi settled herself on the chair with the air of someone prepared to stay for a while. “I haven’t exhausted my stores of the last stone I bought from you, but I’m always interested in more.”

  “We need to find someone we’ve never seen,” Rokshan said. “And we think you know how to do that.” He sat in the other chair, which he’d placed opposite Manishi’s, next to Lamprophyre.

  Manishi looked from Rokshan to Lamprophyre and back again. “Really,” she said. “I’m flattered. But that sort of thing is very difficult.”

  Lamprophyre tried once more to hear Manishi’s thoughts, but got only that dull hum. “Difficult. Not impossible,” she said.

  “Exactly,” Manishi said. “It’s resource-heavy and very expensive. That sort of thing—”

  Lamprophyre rolled her eyes. “How much kyanite do you want?”

  Rokshan jerked in surprise. Manishi’s lips curled in a slow smile. “Either you’re desperate, or you’re as disinclined to bandy words as I am,” she said. “I like that. So you know my price. I want another crystal the size of the one you had before. The whole crystal. Get me that, and I’ll help you find anyone you like.”

  “There’s a catch,” Rokshan said, recovering himself. “Lamprophyre has been accused of destroying a village. She’s agreed to be confined in Tanajital until her innocence is proven.”

  Manishi frowned. “So why did you waste my time?”

  “Because you want the kyanite, and you don’t want anyone to know you have it,” Lamprophyre said. “That means I’m the only one who can supply it to you. And unless we find this person, I’m not leaving here any time soon. So we both benefit from you helping us now.”

  “You’re asking me to take a big risk.”

  “Not so big, considering you know we’re trustworthy,” Rokshan said. “Which is more than we can say for you.”

  “You wound me, Rokshan,” Manishi said with a smile. “All right. You give me the kyanite, and a double handful of the same quality emerald you found before, and I’ll provide you with what you want in advance of payment. The emerald,” she added, holding up a hand to forestall Rokshan’s objection, “is the fee to cover my working for you without the usual retainer. Don’t tell me you aren’t good for it.”

  Rokshan scowled. Lamprophyre didn’t need to hear his thoughts to know he believed they were being cheated. But they didn’t have much choice. “Agreed,” she said. “How soon can you do it?”

  Manishi smiled. “I’ve already started,” she said.

  “Obsidian,” Lamprophyre said. She breathed on the flat face of the stone and watched mist spread across it and then fade. “Didn’t you say you’d pay extra if I could find obsidian?”

  “I did,” Manishi said. “But that’s not relevant now. Step back.”

  Lamprophyre took a step backward, and her tail came up against the rough wooden wall behind her. What Manishi had called her workshop was a wooden structure barely large enough to fit Lamprophyre, with a double door almost as wide as the wall it was set in, thank the Stones, and no windows. Tall wooden boxes with tiny metal knobs in regular patterns along their fronts lined two of the four walls, with chunks of topaz and quartz with that same chlorite inclusion sit
ting atop them. Also atop the boxes were a few smaller pieces of obsidian, jagged and sharp where they’d broken off from a larger piece, and a purple cyclosilicate stone the size of Lamprophyre’s fist that smelled rich and sweet. Too bad she and Manishi weren’t friends, because she might have asked for a taste.

  Lanterns glowed dully at all four corners of the ceiling like tired stars, adding the smell of burning oil to the scent of damp wood and sawdust, which coated the floor and clung unpleasantly to Lamprophyre’s feet. She pinched her nose against a sneeze, which in this place could be catastrophic, and pressed herself even more firmly against the back wall.

  Beside her, Rokshan stepped back as well, though not as far as she had. His eyes were intent on the slab of obsidian twice as long as her arm, mounted in a metal frame that could swivel to turn the stone horizontal or vertical. “It looks like a mirror,” he said.

  Manishi rotated the stone so it reflected all of them, Manishi clearly, the more distant Rokshan and Lamprophyre as dull blurs. “In a sense, yes,” she said. “It cost a fortune to create.”

  “And yet you keep it in an unlocked, unprotected shed in the slums of Tanajital,” Rokshan said.

  Manishi laughed. “If you’d tried to enter without me, you’d find out how unprotected this place is,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. Now, who is it you want to find?”

  Lamprophyre exchanged glances with Rokshan. She didn’t need to eavesdrop to know what he was thinking: if they’d guessed wrong, and Manishi was complicit with the egg thieves, telling her what they’d learned could be dangerous. But Lamprophyre didn’t see that they had much choice. “A man,” she said. “He took up residence in Kolmira three months ago. He’s an enemy to dragons.”

  Manishi’s eyes widened, but the curl of her lip suggested she was about to mock them. “An enemy to dragons? That’s dramatic. Who would be so stupid?”

  “This man would,” Rokshan said. “We need to find him. We think he’s left Kolmira temporarily, but we don’t know where he went.”