A Most Refined Dragon

by Paul Chernoch

  Screeeech! The metal tubes slid together and apart several times, until the tremor stopped. Springy braces to dampen the shocks. The city’s architects planned and built for kiboteshks, but abandoned it in the end. What did they miss?

  The hissing increased. When he rounded the last turn, more sounds joined in: a low hum, clattering, squeaking, and rhythmic pounding. He entered a cavern and gasped. Shoroko had roamed the plains, jungles and mountains of Kibota, but never seen such a place. Moving ramps and scaffolding snaked in every direction. Blasts of steam shot from pipes or leaked from holes in the floor. Sulfurous odors nearly made him retch. A hundred lisstai away, barely visible through the smoke, stood the gates – shut. The tracks led that way, so he walked forward.

  Hoppers filled with rock rolled up and down the ramps, propelled by rotating teeth in the tracks. Shoroko swiveled his head back and forth at every new noise and proceeded cautiously. Halfway, he saw Callyglip on a raised platform beside the gate facing away. The farmer was thrusting his arms frantically in every direction.

  Shoroko shouted over the clamor, “Cally!” His friend didn’t answer. A belt high over his head reversed direction, jerked to a stop, and spilled gravel. Shoroko jumped aside.

  Click. A floor panel twice as long as he was high gave way. He pushed off, spun around and grabbed the lip of the adjoining panel. The spilled gravel slid into a glowing pit. Molten rock? The fumes made him gag and almost pass out. He pulled himself up and scrambled back onto the cavern floor just as the panel reset itself. Spilling gravel is bad. “Cally! Whatever you’re doing, stop!”

  Callyglip turned around. “Shoroko! I’m trying to get the gate open. Give me a hand.”

  An ear-piercing whistle drowned Shoroko’s reply. He tested his footing on the panel that almost killed him, then sprinted across. Callyglip kept pulling and twisting things. Belts moved and jerked, crushing rock into gravel, pulverizing gravel into sand, dumping mixtures into hot metal pots as big as a lissair to be poured onto tracks and flow molten into forms while metal arms rotated and thrust and all of it paid no heed to Shoroko as he dodged and ducked and climbed his way toward the control platform. Reaching an impasse, he ran left into a jet of hot steam. He went right, more steam. He retreated, and another load of gravel made a move on him. When I get my hands on him, should I dump him in lava? Bury him in rocks? Pulverize him into sand? He remembered the coil of rope. I know, I’ll dangle him over the steam and poach him like an egg. Fingering the rope homicidally gave him another idea. He tied the rope to a flat rock, swung it about and hooked it on a metal beam overhead. With a running start, he swung out over the obstruction.

  Predictably, Callyglip found a new lever to play with and the beam began to swivel. Like a cracking whip, Shoroko spun in a large arc. His vision blurred and dizziness nearly cost him his grip. “Stohhhhhhhhhp!” The beam spun faster. Clang! His foot grazed a metal cart whizzing down its track. He’d have to let go. His course cycled through fire, steam, clear, pit, rotating gears, clear, molten slurry, clear, sharp spikes, and back to fire. He’d pass out soon. Shoroko steeled himself for disaster and gauged when he’d be pointed toward the platform. The choice wasn’t his; the rope broke. He pulled himself into a ball and waited for impact.

  Thud. Softer than I expected. He opened his eyes.

  “Ooooooh.”

  The groaning was underneath him. He got to his feet. “Thanks for breaking my fall, Cally. You got something right.” He stood still while the spinning room slowed down. Callyglip stood by the mechanism, again holding a knob. Shoroko drew his klafe, and put it to the man’s throat. “Touch one more knob and I slit your throat.”

  Callyglip raised his hands and backed up. “I’m just trying to get the gate open. We have to find a way out, and go back so we can get…”

  “I got Ecraveo out before the hole closed. Let’s make sense of this machinery.” Shoroko studied knobs and levers and gears and pulleys. Beside each control, inscriptions told what to do, if only they could read them. He found recessed holes the thickness of his finger in the floor and wall and a small cage open at one end attached to a cable tethered to the wall. “Did you see these holes?”

  “They’re just holes.” Callyglip rubbed the scratch on his neck where the klafe had been.

  Shoroko paced, measuring distances between the holes. “Perfect separation.”

  “Huh? Perfect for what?”

  Shoroko knelt and inserted his finger in a hole. At the end was a small amount of give. “They’re buttons. A lissair would stick one paw in each larger depression and extend a claw into each finger hole.” He pointed. “Front right, front left.” He stood and turned around. “Rear left, rear right.” He picked up the arm-length open cage. It fit over his arm loosely. The cable at the back pulled easily, like a small counterweight kept it taught. “What do you make of this?”

  Callyglip came and turned it over. “See this metal ring? Its belt rotted away.” He pulled it toward his eye and studied the interior. “I think they strapped their tail into it. It’s a harness.” He looked up and saw another harness. “This strapped onto their head.” He turned to Shoroko. “The two of us could operate it. You be the head and front paws, while I be the tail and rear ones.”

  Shoroko surveyed the cacophonous and incomprehensible assortment of devices operating in ruinously uncoordinated fashion. “A great idea – if we knew what we were doing. I wish Jessnee were here. He’d figure it out.” He traced his fingers over ancient words, hoping what confused his mind and eyes would submit to his touch.

  “How was your trip home? How is…” Before Callyglip could speak her name, he turned around, pretended to study the controls and attempted light conversation.

  Shoroko saw through him. “I got Thedarra safely home. She was a big help with the planting. That girl can cook.”

  Callyglip’s shoulders tensed. “How’d you get back so fast? Should’ve taken an extra day.”

  “Scooped up by a rukh. Lucky to be alive.” Neither spoke for a minute. “I didn’t ask for it.”

  “For what? You didn’t ask for what?” Callyglip loaded his whats with bitterness and turned his head halfway, so he could see Shoroko from the corner of his eye.

  For the first time, Shoroko looked at Callyglip and saw a man, not a boy, but that man was in pain. “Thedarra loves me. It was easy to ignore her before, before…”

  “I don’t want to know. You rescued Ecraveo. You’re the hero. You’ll find a way out. Leave me. I have nothing to go back for.”

  “You have more than I have.”

  He spun around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Thedarra used to make me laugh. I never took her seriously. I finally saw who she really is, and I’ll never laugh at her again. She’s smart, and tough, and loyal, a good cook, and a poet. She is determined, and will make an excellent wife to the man who wins her heart. I ask myself, if seeing that about her was so hard for me, I must be thick, and if another man knew that about her all along, he’s smarter than me. You’re that man.”

  Callyglip spit on the ground. “Calling a beautiful woman beautiful don’t make a man measure up.”

  “But diving into a hole to save a friend when everyone else runs the other way does.” Shoroko put his hand on Callyglip’s shoulder. “You’re as underestimated as Thedarra. I owe her for showing me what it looks like when a woman loves a man.” He pulled his hand back. “It helped me see there’s another woman up there who loves me, but she’s more out of reach to me than Thedarra is to you.” He sat down on the ground cross-legged and fingered the tail attachment. “When I close my eyes…” There she shimmered, dancing blue, with blazing eyes and dark tresses and fiery kisses and the reciprocal longing for an impossible wish’s fulfillment.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Melissa.”

  “You’ve never talked about her. Does she live far away?”

  “As far as anyone has ever flown.”

  Callyglip sat down next to him. “So
you don’t love Thedarra?”

  Shoroko breathed in and out hard. “No, I love her. I love Melissa more.”

  Callyglip stood up. “If a rukh carried you safely here, there is something that can carry you to your Melissa, and me to Thedarra.”

  Shoroko sat, remembering the flight, the words, and a deadly animal obeying his commands. He jumped up. “You are so right!” He ran to the spot on the wall with the most text and closed his eyes. He brought forth his memory of Melissa breathing flame and pouring healing into his body. You poured more into me than health, Melissa. You gave me something of yourself. You made it possible for me to talk to that rukh. Help me understand this other tongue! He waited. The sensation he had in the Lissai classroom returned. Letters jumped from the walls into his mind, but now they carried meaning. A vision of Claws in harness spread before him, operating machines and furthering a grand purpose. “I see! I understand!” Shoroko grabbed Callyglip and pushed him to the rearward spot with the tail harness. “Do what I tell you.”

  Callyglip complied, and Shoroko barked out commands. They inserted their fingers into the button holes. Callyglip lashed the tail attachment to his right leg, Shoroko tied the headpiece to his chest, and they played dragon. Pushing buttons and tugging on the head and tail controls, they silenced machines one by one until the last echo died. Their final sequence started a welcome clacking sound. The gate began to open.

  They braced themselves. The gate could be holding back a wall of water, or mud, or solid stone and a dead end. It was not. Yet what it had held back waited no more than the blink of an eye before it charged. It was ancient, it was massive, and it was fast. It was a golden dragon, and it was not rushing in to rescue.

  Chapter 17: The Lonely Dragon

  April 9th. The Mines.

  Shoroko spun in a circle. They were cornered if they remained where they stood. The dragon halted, opened its jaws and roared.

  “Climb the ramps!” He scooped up his rope, grabbed Callyglip’s arm and dragged him off the control platform onto the floor below. They scrambled up a ramp loaded with gravel. The skittering of talons on stone followed close behind. From the top of the ramp they climbed scaffolding until they touched the cavern roof. They waited.

  The golden dragon glared from the base of the scaffolding. It backed up, charged and was about to ram its shoulder into the footing, when it pulled up short.

  Drips from the roof dampened Callyglip’s head, making him flinch and smack his head. Nursing a bruise, he said, “Why’d it stop? What’s it going to do?”

  “I’ve seen rigrashes wait a whole week at the foot of a tree,” said Shoroko, “until their prey fainted from hunger and fell.”

  “Or maybe it’s afraid knocking over this structure will bring the roof down on its head. Good thing it doesn’t have wings or we’d be dead.”

  “If your thick skull didn’t collapse the ceiling just now, I doubt the dragon could do better. Besides, I don’t think it’s that smart. It’s just a…”

  “Get down!” Callyglip pushed Shoroko so hard he nearly rolled off their perch.

  A rock the size of a melon whizzed by Shoroko’s ear and shattered against the ceiling. He leaned over and saw the golden menace balancing a second stone in its right paw. It wrapped its tail around the stone, turned sideways, balanced on its rear legs and with a rapid twist threw its right shoulder forward, down and left. Its tail extended in a great arc and released the missile. The stone shattered a metal pole an arm’s length from Callyglip. Seconds later it repeated the feat with a shot half as far from its target.

  “No creature that big, with claws that sharp has any need of weapons,” said Callyglip. “At the moment, it’s the smartest thing in the room.” He looked around the cavern. “Never seen an animal get this mad except when you threaten its den…”

  Shoroko looked down. The dragon held another stone, but instead of firing it, stood and glared. “Its accuracy is too perfect. Those were warning shots. The next won’t be.”

  Callyglip grabbed Shoroko’s arm and pulled him around. “We are not surrendering! It’ll kill us in a second! Me first, cause I made this mess. It’d be different if we could talk to it, but…” He looked down at the dragon, which snarled back. “How’d you read that old Claw scribbling, anyway?”

  “When Mel – I mean when White Talon healed me with that blue flame, I got more than healing, I got part of her inside me. It made it so I could talk to rukhs, and read the writing. Maybe… I’ll go down. If it eats me, maybe you can still escape.” He swung his leg over the side to descend.

  Callyglip put out his hand to say stop. “Can’t you try talking from up here first?”

  Shoroko cupped his hands and shouted, “I’m coming down. Let’s talk.”

  The dragon showed no sign of comprehension. Callyglip said, “You sound the same to me. If you’re going to commit suicide, at least leave me your klafe.”

  “No way. I almost killed one dragon with this. If you want one, you’ll have to dive in the same lake I did.” He wrapped his legs around a support pole and hand-over-hand began to slide down.

  “You don’t just talk to rukhs, you behave like them! Always preening and proud. Since you won’t need it any more, what’s your secret with women? How can I get Thedarra to notice me?”

  Shoroko stopped climbing and looked up. “Doesn’t she notice you when you burn the stew?”

  “You want your legend told proper, don’t you, rukh-man? If I get out of here, it’ll be me telling it, and jabs like that will cost you.”

  “How about singing to her? She loves music.” Shoroko resumed his descent.

  “You may act like a rukh, but I sound like one. Hurry up. Your place in history is in danger.”

  “Utter-flies. Shorassa used them on me all the time to get me to do things. Best love spell around.”

  “Utter-flies? Didn't Darra sic one on you? And she’s better with bugs than me. I hear it landed on a lissair by mistake and tried to make out with…”

  “ALRIGHT! FORGET I MENTIONED IT! Instead, become me. You know she’s crazy about me.”

  Callyglip’s unusually talkative interlude had run its course. His eyes teared up and he gritted his teeth. The next sound from his mouth could’ve been mistaken for the dragon’s voice. He picked up a fist-sized rock and hurled it at Shoroko, who had the agility to dodge it, but not the good sense to let it strike him. It struck the golden dragon instead. A claw tightened around Shoroko’s left leg. The dragon pulled him off the pole, grabbed him around his chest with its other claw and held him directly in front of its face.

  Lots of thoughts could’ve entered Shoroko’s mind. He could’ve thought about his sister, like when he was in a swoon carried by the rukh. He could’ve thought about how he’d never get to tell Melissa how he felt, or help her get her body back so they could be together. He could’ve thought about the agony in his chest and leg. But as he stared death in the face, and saw his reflection in vast, rage-filled eyes, he had a vision of White Talon in the throes of death, desperate for one last look at her Silverthorn. He saw Melissa’s face carved on unplanted fields, waiting for the seed that might never come. Then for the first time, Shoroko saw her. “Orokolga, you are alone.” He spoke the words with softness.

  From the shock of hearing her name pronounced for the first time in millennia, Orokolga released her grip and Shoroko fell. She held her head erect. “My name. Who told you my name?”

  The shock spread to Callyglip. “It talks?”

  Shoroko hoped he might converse with the creature, but in his own language? “We beg your forgiveness for trespassing. The kiboteshk opened the ground and we had no choice. Spare our lives and we will remain in your debt.” He grabbed his wounded side, struggled to his feet, and bowed. “We did not know you were capable of speech, or we would have acted differently.”

  The dragon locked eyes with Callyglip, who got the hint and climbed down. “Of speech? Yes. Of your speech? Never. You spoke truly. I am alone.” She turned a
nd shuffled toward the control platform. They followed. “You opened the gate. How did you accomplish this?”

  Shoroko and Callyglip hopped up on the platform. “We will demonstrate,” said Shoroko. They attached the harnesses, inserted their fingers into the claw holes and described the order of the operations. They lowered and then raised the gate.

  “If you didn’t know how to operate the gate, how do you get about?” said Callyglip.

  “I am strong, but continued use of force may crack the door, and the waters will claim this place again. None but I know how great a loss that would be to our world. Thank you for teaching me.”

  “Does this mean your kind didn’t build this place?” said Callyglip.

  “We stand within an ancient wonder of the Lissai, the Heart of the Waters.” The dragon mounted the platform and pulled a switch. A smooth, black slate twice the thickness of a hand and a lissta wide and high rose from the floor. It glowed with the faint outlines of mountains and hills. A regular grid of circles appeared: green, yellow, brown and black. An inscription occupied the corner of the panel. “Can you read the words? Through laborious trial I mastered some of these machines, but most I do not understand.”

  Shoroko ran his fingers over the letters. “Raise the valleys up, break the mountains down, make for all a level path to the Census Stone. It’s from one of our oldest songs. I didn’t know the Lissai taught it to us.”

  Callyglip puckered his mouth, flared his nostrils, and lost it. He marched forward, thrust out his arm and pointed at Orokolga. “You started it up again, didn’t you? You caused the quake and now friends of mine are dead!”

  The dragon stuck out her right paw and tapped Callyglip on the chest, practically knocking him over. “It was to save your living friends that I charged in and almost killed you! You were undoing work it has taken me one hundred migrations to accomplish! Between migrations, this place is flooded. It only drains when the irrigator functions and discharges the water through a gateway into to the sky, every seven years if I am lucky, and every fifty when it malfunctions. I have been trying to disable it without destroying it. The city attempts to repair itself, so this is not easy. The machines were not built to move mountains and cause kiboteshks, but to dispense water where needed, to areas where the circles on this screen are not green. But the rapid evacuation of so much water from these caverns undermines the surface, causing sinkholes and slippage along faults in the rock.”