A Most Refined Dragon

by Paul Chernoch

  Orokolga turned her head, bowing solemnly once for each person there. “I am not like you, which is why I was chosen to decide this matter. I listened to your testimony, observed your evidence, pondered your laws, and heard you say what you want done. I hoped somewhere inside me reposed the unique quality that would help me understand the right thing to do. I was mistaken.”

  The sound of lungs filling and the silence of breaths being held was deafening.

  The Golden Dragon lowered her head. “You each have something I lack. I had it long ago, but it was taken from me, and without it, how can I decide?” Orokolga raised her head. “What is death?”

  Still no one spoke.

  “What is death?” She swept her tail sideways forcefully until it slapped the stump of a tree Melissa felled the day before. “I know what a dead tree is, but it knows nothing, nor did it ever know. For many hundreds of migrata I’ve seen men and women and lissairn and olissairn fall, never to rise. That is their death, not mine. The Lissai long ago chose to take the prospect of death and hurl it far from me. Perhaps if I sought it willingly, through persistence I could end my existence in some terribly clever and violent suicide, but that is not the death that stalks you. Yours comes without choice, on its own schedule, unavoidable. Endless life was given to me for a reason, however wise or foolish. You had the power; why didn’t your ancestors choose this endless life for themselves? Their choice proves they understood death. They knew they needed it, because someone gave death to them for a reason.

  “There is being and non-being, and death is not non-being. The sustaining power bestowed upon me by the Lissai teaches me that there can be life after death, so it must not be an ending, but a change. There is a separation: from friends, from self, from hopes and plans. Why love? Why plan? Why live if it will not last? I know separation. My love and I were sundered. I couldn’t speak with anyone of my terrors, my anguish. Was I dead? Am I now alive? Through the centuries I planned, and dug in the dirt, and scoured abandoned cities for passage to the place where Kilgain waits for me, and dies every day. I can make such plans because I know there is no ending for me whispering futility in my ear. There is no specter of despair to ennoble my exertions, and however long it takes, Kilgain waits, ever waits. This death you fear will rob you of your success, would it crown my efforts with the urgency that brings a final judgment upon every enterprise? I cannot fail because I can always try again, and so I must, and never know rest.”

  Orokolga padded along the ground, stopping opposite White Talon. “White Talon stands before you. The knife of Shorassa’s avenger has already plunged into her brain; Shoroko executed justice against his enemy, and she – what? Did she die? Until this trial and her late return, this body was scraped free of her memories. Her spirit was separated from her love, from her friends, from planning and hunting and defending and bearing children, and teaching and learning and building up and tearing down. Her spirit fled away from this world, beyond your justice, on an errand of God’s choosing. Who are we to interrupt it? Does not death break every contract? Abolish every marriage? Free every slave? You wish for White Talon to be exiled. Is the Earth not far enough? You wish to sentence her to death. If White Talon did not already die, what is death?”

  Shoroko knew no precedent existed for this. How long would their convocation last? Before he could imagine a compromise and construct an argument for its defense, Lofty K'Fuur left the circle and turned to Metookonsen. “Walk with me.”

  No one spoke until they returned.

  “We have a proposal,” said Metookonsen. “When White Talon’s spirit left her body, she died, no longer subject to our law. But by returning to the same body and not another, she poses a unique problem. It is not that expected body, the hope of all who perish with inadequate faculties and yearn for perfection. It is merely a return to more imperfection. We cannot frame a new law to govern an act that has already occurred, hence are faced with this choice, which we offer you. Remain here as White Talon, and this body you now inhabit will be executed. Or exchange places once more with the woman, Melissa Long, and never return to this body again.”

  Before anyone could react, Lofty K'Fuur added more stipulations. “Because of the dangers posed, while in this body, Melissa Long may drink liosh no more, and never put herself forward as a candidate for hlissosak. Whenever challenged, she must submit to observation to prove her soul has remained. As soon as she leaves this body, it shall be marked for death. There will be no more question about what death is, when for a second time you die.”

  With life and freedom on the line, White Talon had no difficulty reaching out in her mind to a woman lying wounded on a cot in the Sudan. This offer has been made. I cannot advise that we change places again, since this bargain favors me, and ruins you. I have seen and heard the Hand who could have killed me but did not. If he is your destined husband, you will find a way to join him, Melissa Long. In only two weeks, you progressed from a friendless refugee in an alien form to the most powerful creature on my world. I do not fear for your future, and I have made peace with mine.

  If I don’t come, you die, thought Melissa. I will come.

  You will lose Shoroko, thought White Talon. I am confident that in this human body, you will find a way into Nehenoth, and perhaps even travel at will between worlds. This would allow you to rejoin Shoroko as a Hand and find your happiness. Once I make my vow to the Octojurata, you will lose this human body forever. You are strong, you are courageous, and you are gracious beyond measure, but if you do this, you will be alone. I have been alone. Orokolga has been alone. We know a pain that never leaves. I have many years left in this body. This emptiness you will carry for over a century before the release of death claims you. I let jealousy corrupt my heart and it destroyed my best friend. We are sisters in this; your jealousy over the woman Thedarra is so potent I can feel it, though the memories of your dealings are not mine. You know I speak the truth.

  Melissa’s chest caught on fire. Mental torment infused her physical wounds with new agony. White Talon spoke of emptiness. Empty. Empty. Empty. She could at least look on his face, even if she could never kiss his lips. Then she remembered the words of the voice. It promised emptiness, and that emptiness would make her full. Could she trust it? All her hopes and dreams were bound up in this decision. She had no promise things would work out. Before she was anchored in the body of a dragon, but now it was a woman’s bosom heaving, a woman’s blood on fire, a woman’s heart breaking and a woman’s desire sweeping her away. I must see him again, if only to say goodbye. I will die for him. White Talon, you must live, and I must hope for the impossible. I promised if I couldn’t save his sister, I’d save his world, your world. I will be the Rainbow Bride, even if my only husband is a dream.

  They exchanged no more words, except the raw thankfulness of White Talon’s emotions. For she hoped to see Silverthorn once more, even if they could curl up in a cave no more as before, or fly in winter below the warming sun, or dive together in Soulfish Lake for striped brona, or raise another generation of Lissai to laugh behind the fiery breath of life. Now they were sisters forever, and neither could find happiness without the other.

  Melissa blinked and saw waiting eyes. “We accept. I am Melissa Long the White, a Claw forevermore.” Every head bowed in respect of her sacrifice, except one. He stared, and tears migrated from his eyes to his cheeks. Now Shoroko walked alone.

  * * *

  April 13th. The Sudan.

  White Talon lay on her cot, still chained to a pole. She was a prisoner of her wounds, a prisoner of cruel soldiers, a prisoner of a weak, earthbound body, and a prisoner of an alien world. Outside the tent were voices doubly strange, both to her and to Melissa before her. She unbuttoned her blouse to inspect her bandages. She had heard from Shoroko’s mouth about healing blue flames and unicorn kisses, but such things seemed absent from this place. She inhaled, but bruised ribs made her wince and forced the air from her lungs. Her feeble exhalation sprayed onto her chest. The
exertion drained her, and she lost consciousness.

  She awoke an hour later. The light peering through the tent flap shone a little brighter. Breathing came easier. She felt her chest with her free hand. Odd. She pulled off the bandages. A scar was all that remained to tell the story of the bullets that hit Melissa in the plane. She put her hand to her head, then gingerly removed the gauze. For the first time in over a week, feverish sweat did not drench her forehead.

  The pounding of boots outside made her lay still.

  “The Chinese lady will fetch a good ransom,” said one man. “Ali read the newspaper. Her father owns an oil company.”

  “And the others?” said a teenage boy.

  “Commander had too much fun with the nurses; I doubt they’ll live long. But the doctor is still whole. We will send pieces of him to make the oilman hurry with the money. Maybe enough of him will be kept together for a second ransom.”

  The voices passed out of range of White Talon’s ears, but not of her curiosity. They were not speaking English, yet their meaning was clear. Melissa left me a gift. I will not squander it.

  White Talon wrapped the chain about her wrist to take up the slack. She took it in both hands and pulled, and pulled and pulled. Whether she snapped the links, or tore the pole free from the ground, or only rubbed her skin raw, in the place where it counted, White Talon was a prisoner no more.

  Chapter 23: Bittersweet by Barge

  April 13th. Afternoon. Hammerside.

  While Makri’s wife cooked lunch at his house next door, a somber crowd gathered around the workbenches behind his shop. Besides the smithy were Jessnee, Orokolga, Shoroko, Melissa, Olsurrodot, K'Pinkelek, Soorararas, Thedarra, and Callyglip. It was cramped.

  “Why are we here?” said Thedarra. “White Talon, or rather Melissa, is free.”

  “Because Kibota is not at peace,” said K'Pinkelek. “We are waiting for one more.” There was a rushing shadow, the canopy tree bent back from a powerful gust, and then it was really cramped. “Welcome, Genereef.” A Green Lissai had landed, smelling of salt and seaweed. He had the smallest body and longest wings of all Claws present. K'Pinkelek sniffed him. “So this is what you smell like when your Brown mate isn’t around to freshen you up.”

  Genereef snorted. “I bought her perfume when we met, not the other way around. Seakeep is just as refined as Menagerie.” The Claw glanced at the Hands. “Can these Hands be trusted?” Genereef pointed at Melissa. “And has her loyalty been tested?”

  “Yes to both,” said K'Pinkelek. “In her world, Melissa hails from a wealthy family, and her occupation confers great prestige. She sacrificed that to save the life of White Talon. These others assisted her.”

  “Then you have my respect. I am speaker for the Tongues of Silver. Silverthorn entrusted the peace of Kibota to us. We are wise enough to discern the multiplying troubles, but too weak to overcome them. We nearly despaired, until Soorararas told of your vision of Silverthorn. We are resolved to risk everything to find our noble leader and restore him to his position. We fear that we have days, not weeks or months, to accomplish this. Before we make our pact, explain the meaning of your name.”

  “On my world,” said Melissa, “Melissa means bee, what you call a zizza. Bees are honored for being hard workers that help plants grow. But here, I am told it has another meaning.”

  “The Meloah of the Lissai, the healing flower,” said Olsurrodot.

  “And your second name?” asked Genereef.

  “Long? I haven’t thought about that in years.” She put her claw to her snout while she thought. “I was too independent, scared off most guys. Some of them,” she glared at Jessnee, “used it to taunt me. It means dragon. Didn’t help that I was also born in the Year of the Dragon.”

  Jessnee smacked his head. “I was right! You always were the dragon lady. Honestly, you were born on the wrong planet.”

  “You were lovers? Intriguing,” said Genereef. “What different paths you followed to get here. I believe Councillor Jessnee’s path is the most useful for us to follow, since both his mind and body took it. What have you learned about the door between worlds?”

  “I think it is genetic, an innate capability,” said Jessnee.

  “You opened it with your mind?” said Melissa.

  “If only!” said Jessnee. “No, I’m convinced it involves the moskats. We’d been having troubles with animals disappearing at my lab. We blamed animal rights activists, so we installed cameras.” After puzzled looks from the lissairn he added, “Mechanical eyes that record what they see on paper. The moskats just vanished. The cameras and computers showed no sign of tampering, so we recombined DNA and created another batch of moskats.”

  “From what animals did you get your genetic material?” asked Melissa.

  “Mouse, cat, and some mystery DNA drawn from ancient fossils. Dinosaur we think. The source rock was jumbled, so we’re not sure. We grew a dozen more. We took precautions and sterilized them. These chimaeras don’t last long, so one day when I was at the lab playing nursemaid to a sick moskat, it died. Next thing I know, two healthy ones in the next cage over start to glow. I grab the cage and run to the containment unit. Before I get there everything goes dark and cold. I hear humming. It grows fainter before stopping, like a turbine spinning down. Then the sound returns and gets really loud. A faint glow in the distance pops like a flashbulb and blinds me. When the spots leave my eyes, I’m on Kibota, northeast of Trample.”

  “That sound and light doesn’t seem like it was from the moskat,” said Orokolga. “I think your first hop was from Earth to Nehenoth, and your second hop from there to here.”

  “Yes, a machine is involved,” said Jessnee. “But I believe a natural ability in the moskat carried it to Nehenoth, and the machine completed the journey, like it intercepted and redirected the trajectory the moskat had chosen. I think the secret is in the fossilized DNA. I don’t think the dinosaurs went extinct. I think they came here. The Earth became dangerous so they evolved a sense that would lead them to a more hospitable climate, and it led them to Kibota. If we can make the moskat believe Kibota is more dangerous than Earth, maybe it will go back.”

  “And if we are holding it when it goes…” said Melissa. “So do you have any moskats back at your farm?”

  “Only one. I think you need two, one male and one female.”

  “You said these creatures cannot bear offspring?” said Olsurrodot. “If that be true, then there can only be two moskats on Kibota, both hlisskans. The Census Stone will call them. All you need to do is leash yours and follow it until its mate arrives.”

  “No,” said Jessnee. Makri’s wife walked in and handed out mugs of ale. After sipping his, he resumed. “Their coloration varied with each batch we created. I have seen four different moskats, all male like mine. All resisted my darts. All were hlisskans.”

  “Unprecedented!” Genereef toppled a bench with a tail slap. “Something has gone wrong. This world cannot long sustain an influx of new creatures, if multiple hlisskans arrive for each species. World-hopping moskats, the daughter of the Rainbow revealed, poisoned liosh, a rainy migration, words from the Golden Dragon, and a new hlissosak to be chosen… None of us is wise enough to guide our world peacefully through these troubling times. We must find Silverthorn soon.”

  “Add one more problem,” said Makri. “Those men I told you about? They bought traps last week. My wife was minding the store, so she only mentioned it to me because she overheard your talking.” He slapped his mug on the table. “From the description they gave, it’s moskats they’re hunting.”

  The only people who know moskats are special are Jessnee and… Melissa carved an image in the table with her claw. “Did one of the men have a tattoo on his neck like this?”

  Makri walked over and bent down. “Yeah. Really bad drawing of a lissair. Not made in this town.”

  “Not a lissair, a dragon. He got it to impress me. I wasn’t impressed.” Melissa turned to Jessnee. “Ren Fa is here. If your ex
-roomie’s hiding from you, he’s up to no good.”

  They discussed the mysteries another hour, then hammered out a plan. Genereef spoke first. “Only one person here has earned the trust of us all. Given how you oversaw the rescue operation in the Gap, it’s clear you have a gift for leadership. Will you lead us in our quest for Silverthorn, Melissa?”

  As she studied all their faces, Melissa looked longest at Shoroko. The void in her heart grew like a sinkhole. I will have to pour myself out completely for these people and never get what my heart desires. If I am so empty inside to start with, I have nothing to lose. “I accept.” She turned to Olsurrodot. “You once tutored a young olissair named White Talon. Will you teach me?”

  The ancient lissair raised his wings above his head and touched their tips together twice. To Lissai, versed in siglissik or not, this had one meaning: a joyful yes. “And what is it that Melissa K'Naribo wishes to learn?”

  “K'Naribo. Of the Rainbow. It fits. On my world, when people see a rainbow, they rejoice. It means a second chance. It means peace. I hope I can give you a second chance for a world at peace. But what does the rainbow feel? It’s a mist, suspended in air, riddled through with shafts of light, soon dispersed by the sun’s heat and the world’s winds. All the world can see the rainbow, but the rainbow can never see itself. What do I want you to teach me? Two things. When you look at me, I want you to tell me what you see. Teach me the secret of contentment. Help this Hand delight in being a Claw.”

  * * *

  They scattered, each to their task. Makri hired new apprentices: Callyglip and Thedarra. They had to build and ship refining towers to each klatch and major town and train operators. Metookonsen granted them the sole concession (plus a dragon-sized tax). The revenue would fund the group’s activities. Callyglip couldn’t be happier. As chief refinery technician, he became the most prominent man under twenty-five in Hammerside. When Thedarra turned her icy glare to good use shooing away gawking girls taken to loitering outside Makri’s shop, Callyglip found he didn’t need a dragon to tutor him about contentment.