by Unknown
Standing, she smoothed her kimono, finding that except for the hem it was dry. Her brother's gift weighed heavily in her sleeve; she drew it out to look it over. The leather case had protected it from the water, and the weight, size, and shape of it made her smile. She tucked it into her obi where its comforting weight pressing against her ribs.
The pool from which she had emerged lay in a shady corner of gardens that swept out from a sprawling palace like a grand lady's skirts. Red and gold-gilt bridges connected pathways of grey stone. The pathways, and streams that fed the pools, spread out through the garden like a spider's web. Except for the quiet rush of water in the little streams there was not a single sound—no hum of activity from the palace, and no bustle of life from beyond the grey walls. The lack of sound made her uneasy.
Shiori made her way to the shaded veranda that encircled the palace. She automatically slipped off her sandals when she stepped up onto the polished floor. After a moment of consideration she left them there. Making her way around the veranda, Shiori turned a corner and stumbled into a scene of absolute carnage.
The veranda had been torn and smashed as if something heavy had crashed into it and thrashed about. The shoji sat at broken angles in their grooves, wood shattered and paper torn. All of it had been splattered with blood that still dripped, pooling on the ground without being absorbed into the earth. The garden in this area equally destroyed—the rock paths scattered, the elegant trees uprooted. The koi ponds were little more than misshapen pools of mud.
Shiori felt shaken, sick and scared to her bones. She covered her mouth and turned away. The silence was even more eerie now. Shouldn't a palace like this be full of life? Where were the servants that polished the floors and tended to the gardens? Something was terribly wrong.
Deep within the palace something groaned, and a great gust of wind blew out of the gaping hole in the wall, scattering dead leaves and scraps of paper. Shiori felt hope swell in her like river water. Straightening up she opened the nearest, undamaged shoji panel and stepped inside, pulling the trailing end of her kimono in after her.
The room she had stepped into was bare; a space open and clean. Going to the other side of it Shiori slipped into the hallway. To one side the damaged wall gapped open, to the other the dark hallway extended into the gloom. A light glowed at the far end of the hallway. With one hand on the wall she ventured towards it.
When she reached the end of the hallway Shiori found that it split to her left and right, and before her the painted fusuma were illuminated with a steady, golden light. Shiori traced the swirl of a river with her finger tips, and could feel the heat emanating from the room beyond. Some of the panels were crooked, and beams of light streaked the floor. Hesitantly Shiori peered through one.
In the room beyond lay a youkai—a golden-green demon, a giant snake that had tiger claws and the leathery wings of a bat. Shiori fell back, covered her mouth with her sleeve to muffle her gasp. Its scaled hide glittered like the pile of gold and jewels it rested upon. It glowed from within, its sinuous body filling the large room; smoke curled from its nostrils with each breath.
This was no god of the water, but a monster of fire. Shiori felt certain that this was the source of the misfortune that had befallen her village. Somehow this youkai had taken the place of the water god.
Shiori sobbed, tears springing to her eyes. She buried her face in her long sleeves. She would be eaten for sure!
In the room coins jingled as they cascaded down; Shiori glanced up, terror filing her. The youkai lifted its reptilian head and swung it around. Its burning eyes were golden and flecked like amber. It sniffed the air; Shiori swallowed and shrunk back, but the movement seemed to draw the demon's attention to her.
It rose from its bed of treasures, causing a larger avalanche. It stretched its front legs out and flexed its wings; even without unfolding them, standing its wings brushed the ceiling. Its long neck and tail were deceptive—the monster was massive, its bulk unwieldy in the small space. It flicked its tail and knocked over part of a display of armor, scattering a display rack of katana.
It bared two rows of jagged white teeth and spoke. Its words came as a hiss in her mind, twisted with a heavy accent.
"I smell a young human—a female." A growl of pleasure rumbled deep in its throat as it maneuvered its body around to face her direction. Shiori watched, frozen and numb, as the youkai's head swung closer; its nostrils filled the gap between panels and it nudged them apart.
The heat rolling off the youkai was unbearable. It smelled of acrid smoke and rotting meat. Shiori gagged and tried to scramble away from it. The youkai lazily reached out and hooked claws in her hem. It retreated to its bed and settled onto its haunches, dragging her into the room.
"What have we here?" it purred, releasing Shiori. She scrambled backwards, only to find herself trapped by an extended leg and curling tail. "Why are you here, delicious child?"
Shiori swallowed, pulling her kimono away from the youkai's claws. Gathering herself she knelt, bowing to touch her forehead to the floor. "I—" her voice cracked, "I was sent to be a bride of the water god."
"That furry lion-wyrm?" Shiori lifted her head up just enough to see the youkai's lip part around its teeth. "Its blood tasted watery."
Shiori's eyes widened. The water god was gone—eaten by this youkai. She felt the youkai's hot breath on the back of her neck. It huffed, and smoke curled around her face. She coughed and rose, inching backwards.
"My family was desperate, youkai-sama," she said, "our village has experienced a drought since spring—the river has dried up and the crops are failing. They sent me hoping the water god would look more favorably upon us and let the rains come."
"Youkai?" The youkai tilted its head to look at her and Shiori was reminded of a cat. "I am a DRAGON. I come from far, far away. I do not care about your village. " It bared its fangs again. "Perhaps if no rains come they will send another of their children."
Shiori glanced down at her trembling hands; she blinked to clear her burning eyes of tears. Her sacrifice had been meaningless. She would be eaten, the drought would continue, and her village would suffer. Unless...
Shiori looked up, and blanched. The dragon's amber eye was mere inches in front of her face. Subtle scars crisscrossed the dragon's face, breaking the neat pattern of its scales. This dragon looked like no dragon Shiori had ever seen.
"You were thinking deep thoughts," it grumbled. "I will have to eat you sooner than I expected."
"Wait!" Shiori said, grasping at half formed ideas. "I have something to show you!"
The dragon didn't move closer. Swallowing her fear Shiori pulled out her brother's gift and gently unwrapped it. Upon seeing what lay within the dragon threw its head back and filled the room with a laugh like rolling thunder. It shook Shiori to her bones.
"Paper?" It laughed. "Paper is hardly valuable!"
"Please," Shiori gasped, "just wait a moment and you will see."
Amusement still coloring the dragon's expression, it flicked its tale and leaned back. "Very well."
Shiori separated a single sheet of delicate paper from the others. She fumbled her way through her most practiced pattern. Between her fingers a crane with a graceful neck and gold-painted wings took shape. When she was done she lifted the piece to her lips and blew into it, puffing out the crane's body.
The crane twitched, then flapped its wings. It took flight, circling her head once before alighted on the dragon's snout. The dragon's eyes widened and it shook off the paper crane.
Feeling more sure of herself Shiori's fingers flew, crafting frogs that hopped, and butterflies that adorned her hair. She made bunnies that hid in her sleeves, flowers that gave off sweet perfume, and even a small phoenix. Soon a miniature menagerie surrounded her, and when Shiori reached for another sheet of paper there was none left. She set her tired hands in her lap, dreading raising her eyes to learn her fate.
The crane with the gold-painted wings alighted on Shiori's s
houlder and she smiled at it. The crane bobbed its head. "Your power is greater here then you imagine, mistress," it whispered in her ear.
Shiori started, then quickly looked up to see if the dragon had heard. But it was focused on the tiny deer that frolicked around its claws.
"What can I possibly do?" Shiori asked softly, watching as the dragon snapped at the butterflies that circled its head. With a burst of fire butterflies and cranes fell, flames consuming them completely before they hit the floor.
"An impressive talent, but they were still only made of paper." The dragon scoffed.
Shiori cast her gaze around, searching for inspiration. "I could fold a likeness of you...if I had something to fold."
Without hesitation the dragon shifted to one side and plucked something from its bed of treasures with its long claws. It dropped it in her lap. Shiori picked up the object. It was warm, and the same golden-green as the dragon's hide—it had to be a shed scale. A belly scale too, by the shape of it. It was surprisingly pliant.
Going slowly, Shiori tried to picture the result she wanted as she folded. The finish likeness looked clumsy and lopsided, but as soon as she breathed into it the small wings began to flap. Cradling the tiny dragon in the palms of her hands, she held it out for the very large and very real dragon to see.
The tiny dragon strutted to the edge of her fingers and cocked its head at its larger self. The dragon mirrored it. It flexed a wing, and the paper dragon did as well. The dragon's lips parted over its jagged fangs in a horrific smile. "Clever."
Shiori smile hopefully. She pulled her hands back, gently cupping the paper dragon. She stroked its little neck with a finger tip. It stretched its neck, leaning in to her caress. The larger dragon rumbled in satisfaction. Shiori looked between the tiny, paper dragon and its fearsome counterpart in surprise.
Setting the paper dragon in her lap she keep stroking it, running a finger from the back of its neck to the end of its tail. The larger dragon's rumbling purr shook the room. Soon Shiori had divined the dragon's preferred spots—the underside of its chin, and the space on its back between its wings. She began to hum a lullaby.
Slowly the living dragon toppled over, sliding down on its side as it lulled luxuriantly in its bed of treasures. It rolled its head over to fix Shiori with a single amber eye. It blinked lazily and yawned, treating Shiori to a startling view down the dragon's gullet. Pink and dark mottled flesh of the ridged roof of its mouth, and a forked tongue that flexed and relaxed. Its head hit the floor with a heavy thump, and its eyes rolled closed. After a moment its breathing deepened as it drifted to sleep.
Shiori drew a trembling breath and eased the paper dragon from her lap to the floor, where it lulled in the same position as the sleeping dragon. Moving as slowly and quietly as she could she reached for a katana that lay free of the main bulk of the treasure horde. Standing, she unknotted the sword's ties. The shining blade whispered as she drew it from the sheath. She set the sheath on the floor, wincing at every little noise she made.
She picked her way through the scattered gold and jewels to the very edge of the pile. The dragon lay sleeping on its side with its soft scaled belly exposed. For a moment Shiori stood with sword in hand, watching the dragon's chest rise and fall. Then, holding it with both hands, she lifted the sword and plunged in deep into the dragon's chest, slipping between its ribs to pierce its heart.
The dragon roared and thrashed, knocking Shiori back with such force that she flew through the wall's panels. It reared up, its wings flailing, crashing through the ceiling. Its lashing tail knocked over the walls. It grabbed at the sword and yanked it free of its chest, and a torrent of blood followed. Deep red and shimmering with heat it spilled out across the pile of treasures, melting all the gold that it touched. The scrolls and remaining papers animals burst into flame.
With another roar the dragon collapsed. Shiori waited until she was sure it was dead before she approached. Its blood had cooled quickly, and the sword that had pierced its breast lay intact in a pool of melted gold. Shiori pulled free one of her decorative sashes and wrapped it about her hand before picking up the sword. Even though the colorful silk the heat from it was almost unbearable.
With the magic sword, for it had to be magical to be so undamaged, Shiori gut the dragon as she would have gutted a fish. In its belly she found an orb the color of the clear summer sky. It radiated a clear, cool light that washed away the choking heat. When she picked it up her hands tingled as if she had dipped them in a stream.
Shiori knew without needing the little crane's whispered excitement that this was the water god's power, and it was now in her hand. Caressing the orb she wondered what the water god had been like. Would he have been a good husband? Or would he have eaten her as surely as the dragon would have?
She thought of her village, and the image of it appeared in the orb. Looking down at the familiar buildings and landscape from above it took her a moment to recognize it. A strange pressure pulsed under her fingertips, and with a thought she released it. Clouds rolled in over her village. Hastily she pulled some of the clouds back—it wouldn't do to cause a flash flood after coming this far.
Looking up Shiori found the palace servants, minor youkai of all sorts, gathered around her, peeking warily from behind the ruined walls. The orb had given her the ability to see them. She smiled at them. One that looked like a normal child hurried forward to bow at her feet.
"What task do you have for us, mistress?" the child-like youkai asked.
Shiori blinked. Mistress? She supposed she was. Her eyes went from the youkai to the dragon's body. "Please clean up this mess."
Hedgewitch
by Jonathan Shipley
This is the second appearance of Jonathan Shipley in Sword and Sorceress, both times with stories about his favorite clan, House Arburg. "Hedgewitch" represents an on-going conflict in the life of the Lady of Arburg as she and a determined sorceress jockey back and forth for preeminence in the new social order. The protagonist, however, would rather have nothing to do with either woman.
Jonathan sold his first story to Marion Zimmer Bradley's Fantasy Magazine in 1992, but he's certainly been busy since then. In the last year alone, he has finished a ninth novel in his on-going story arc—also about the Arburgs—sold a half-dozen more stories to various speculative fiction anthologies, and established a web site (http://www.shipleyscifi.com). He lives in Fort Worth, Texas.
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The stench of burning flesh filled the air as bodies were consigned to hasty bonfires. There was a reassuring finality to the acrid smell. Burned bodies were bodies that would not rise again in service of the enemy...A shrill chittering warned her a moment before the dark, chitinous thing launched itself at her, claws outstretched to rend...
Hettie gave a yell that roused her from the nightmare that gripped her. Glancing around in panic, she recognized the cluttered room of her little lean-to cottage and let herself relax back into her rocking chair. She shifted closer to the fire to ease the ache in her bones. It was a cold spring and she felt it in every joint. But at least that damnable war with the Necromancer was over and done. No more traveling in the wake of the army to stitch up those still alive after the dark things got through with them. Messy business, all of that, and no place for an old hedgewitch. But over and done...except like the Necromancer's Undead, the dreams refused to die.
The cottage door banged open, letting in a rush of cold air. She glared at the flop-haired boy lugging a bulging sack through the doorway. Why had she ever agreed to take him in? He was a help around the cottage, to be sure, but he had it in his head to learn the way of root and hex and potion. For all that he was family, the craft made no sense for a boy. More's the pity that he had a little talent, but you didn't mix traditions. Wasn't safe.
"Auntie, we have food like never before," he piped excitedly and began unloading the sack onto the warped oak table in the center of the room. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the tartness of berry prese
rves as crocks and bundles appeared from the sack. Then an exotic tea that tickled her nose like no tea she'd ever smelled before. Her eyes widened at the sight of cheese and venison and a mess of vegetables already chopped and ready for the stew pot. They didn't have the coin to eat like this.
"Where did you get this, Darry?" she snapped. "If you've been using finger charms to steal in the market again—"
"Oh, no, Auntie," he interrupted with a vigorous shake of his head. "Not after the thrashing you gave me last time. All this is a gift from the great lady up from the Southlands. She said it was in thanks for your services in the war."
Hettie stopped short, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the cold wind still gusting through the doorway. So the Lady of Arburg was in the village. Try as she might, Hettie couldn't see any good reason why that should be. There was nothing of interest in this out-of-the-way hamlet. Moreover, all she remembered of the Lady Ydaire from the war warned her to caution.
A powerhouse, that woman, full of plans and strategies and the wherewithal to make them happen. Very dangerous, that woman, if you got on the wrong side of her plans.
"Close the door and tell me what she said," Hettie ordered.
Darry paused in his unpacking, startled at the sharpness of her tone. Then he quickly shut the door and hurried over to the hearth alcove. "I did wonder about all this, Auntie. I mean, a fine lady like that paying so much attention to the likes of us. But you did know her in the war, didn't you?"
"Aye. More than her lord husband or his generals, she ran the war. Lots of muttering in the ranks about that, but no one denied she was good at it. You might say she was fighting two wars — one against the Necromancer and a second against all the backbiting. So what did she say?"