He gave an answer, but she wasn’t listening. The petal dance soothed her frayed nerves. She closed her eyes and thought only of their gyrations. Her spirit spread out from its huddled pain to grab hold of the stream of spring’s promise and follow it in its course. Mixed with the petals were flowers she knew. Her seeds had sprouted and flowered and sent out another generation of seeds. She called to them and sang and cajoled. With the great wings of her heart she fanned the mountains, fanned the fields, fanned the jungle, and fanned the desert to the west. Upward tossed the germ of a continent. Beyond the bees, beyond the treetops, beyond the mountaintops they ascended. A latch inside the irrigator switched on and she sucked in the torrents and spread them like dough under a rolling pin. A dust storm troubled the western edge of the Talon Mountains, but she laid claim to it and hoisted it into the sky.
The lovely daydream slowed her pulse as her raveled cares were knit once more. Melissa opened her eyes. White olissairn mothers emerged from the cave and stood beside K'Fuur. All were staring at the sky. When she looked up, she gave in to awe. There was a river in the air, and it was green. Water and dirt and seed and sun had mixed. The heavens bloomed, and drew all flying creatures up to share in the bounty, to be guided in peace to the Census Stone. The spring planting was safe. Hands and Claws were safe. On top of all that, the birds were safe, for it was all of them that needed to be saved.
It was time for Melissa to leave. She couldn’t save everyone, but she wouldn’t know how many she could save unless she tried. Try she would, whatever the cost.
Chapter 30: Reaver Psychology
April 21st. Clawtill Plains.
The name of the well-watered hill was Futility Knoll. It possessed a commanding view of the most fertile plot in all the Clawtill Plains, east of the Faithful River, and was adjacent to a grove of fruit trees. It also possessed a lethal reputation; every single migration, whichever family lived in the ancient, stone house died without survivors. The reputation did not deter settlers; the property was too perfect to resist, and the stone wall around it too high and strong. Strong walls made people feel safe.
Shoroko watched from a stone bench in the garden outside the manor’s locked gate. The family currently occupying it had packed their possessions in a wagon and left that morning to escape both migration and curse. By leaving before the beasts arrived and returning after they completed their return journey from the stone, they thought they could escape their fate. A distant dust trail on the road spoke: the family was returning. So far their outer fences had held, but their estate was an island in a sea of creatures, and there was no retreat.
Fear munched away in the garden while Orokolga drank from a bucket drawn from the well. On the horizon clutches of Greens and Whites could be seen trying to force the creatures eastward toward the lakes, away from the settled areas along the shores of the Faithful, but their numbers were too few. Shoroko had spent days riding with the Golden Dragon discussing what could be done. He’d seen four migrations; she’d endured hundreds. They had no plan. No, not true. He had a plan, but it was too crazy to share. Now they were out of time. He looked south through his spyglass. The jawmaxtons had arrived.
Orokolga stretched out on the grass and basked in the sun. “Why have we come? The hundreds of Lissai crisscrossing these skies are failing, and we are only two. Melissa has surprising talents which might benefit us, but my strength and size are enough to stop perhaps five jawmaxtons. Once before I met their hlisskans in battle. A repetition is unwelcome.”
“Good,” said Shoroko. “It will not be you who fights them.”
Orokolga flexed her legs and jerked to her feet. “I did not accompany you to watch you commit suicide.”
“No, you are here to get me close enough to strike. Fear is useless, and I can’t approach on foot.”
“Why? There are thousands of them, and they protect their own.”
“I don’t have an answer. I don’t know if bringing down one will help, but unless the strongest creature is subdued, we’ll never persuade the rest to change course. I have to do it.” Shoroko scanned the movements of the approaching herd. A few jawmaxtons led the procession, but most kept to the edges, in single file. They were twice Orokolga’s size, with long thick necks, too many teeth, and quick eyes. Their wrinkled hide could stop his arrows, and one thump from their spiny tail could break a quagga’s back. Animals of other species drifted out from the mass of the stampede. Seeing this, the jawmaxtons charged, nipped at their heels and forced them back in line. Tomorrow’s dinner would not escape them. He dropped his spyglass. “I know what we have to do. Will you help me?”
* * *
As a hlisskan, Orokolga didn’t need tranquilizer darts to figure out which two jawmaxtons were hlisskans. Shoroko rode the dragon through the mass of running and hopping beasts straight up alongside the lead male jawmaxton. The creature ignored Orokolga’s Hand rider but eyed the golden one with recognition. It bellowed for the herd to halt, made a slow circuit around Orokolga, then pawed the earth defiantly.
She answered by rearing on her hind legs. Shoroko climbed onto her shoulders, adjusted the slipknot on his rope, swung his lasso about and cast it forward. It was an easy target; the stunned jawmaxton had never met anyone stupid enough to rope it. As the noose tightened about its neck, it yanked its head back to rip Shoroko from his mount. The Hand didn’t resist, and at the same time Orokolga batted him to the side with her paw. He swung in a great arc and landed on the jawmaxton’s back. Holding fast to the rope, he ran up the neck of the beast. Near the head, he took the weighted end of a second, short rope tied to his right ankle and swung it under the tree-trunk-sized neck, caught the other end when it came around and slipped the loop over his left ankle. Shoroko wrapped the first, longer rope around the creature’s neck under his armpits and around his chest. He pressed his chest against the neck, pulled his knees in and his ankles back to make his harness tight and held on.
The massive head bobbed and weaved, the neck snapped back and forth and the howling was terrifying, but nothing the jawmaxton did could dislodge its new rider.
“You’ll never ditch me, stupid jummax!” said Shoroko.
The other ‘jummaxes’ disagreed and charged in to assist. If Shoroko weren’t so busy holding on, he would’ve admired the ferocity with which Orokolga dispatched any that came within range. When the jummax slowed its head thrashing, Shoroko slipped his klafe from its sheath and raised it high.
* * *
Melissa left Rampart, accompanied by Olsurrodot, Mirrorwing, and Lofty K'Fuur, intent on finding Shoroko on the plains. After seeing prophetically the situation facing him, she desperately wanted to help. She flew high and peered down, using her magnifying eyes to their fullest. Through wispy clouds she saw him balanced atop an immense dinosaur that wanted him off. Orokolga was at his side, as nearby dinosaurs left off what they were doing to run to the aid of their hlisskan. In minutes Shoroko would be overrun. Whatever his plan was, it was failing. Why did we spread ourselves so thin? These fights keep getting worse. If we’re going to die, I should be with Shoroko. If I’d walked with him on his march south, we could’ve had one last day together, with me tripping in the mud and spooking Fear and eating nasty skanaks from ponds. I’ve got to do something.
Melissa prepared to sign her intent to the others, but her mind went fuzzy and she forgot her siglissik. She opened her mouth, but was incapable of speech. Cloud mist closed in and she lost sight of her love. No! She dove through clouds until the ground reappeared, but now her telescopic vision went blurry. Her will to find him could not be broken. Instead, it vanished entirely. She banked north and her companions followed. Melissa K'Naribo was not like other Lissai. She was a prisoner to the call of the stone.
* * *
“Diiiiiie!” Shoroko plunged his klafe into the jummax’s brain. It thrashed. It fell. Shoroko pulled his klafe out of the skull and waited. The dead monster revived, rolled to its feet and stood tall. Shoroko raised his klafe again.
/> The creature laughed, if it can be called that. It snarled at its companions to keep their distance. Shoroko struck again, with the same results. When the beast regained its feet this time, its roaring and bellowing and spitting and hissing imprinted upon his mind, and understanding came.
“Hairless, two-legged idiot kill deathless me?” said the proud hlisskan. “Kill me? After his puny tooth break upon my skull, my falling body break him! How many deaths of me kill him? How many!”
The other jummaxes shouted their guesses. “Seven!” “Five!” “Two!”
“One!” shouted Shoroko in the rough lingo of the jummax.
That made them stare.
Shoroko waved his hand and pointed his klafe at each jummax in the vicinity in turn. “Yes, hairless one kill deathless one.”
“It speaks!” said one.
“Ha!” said the hlisskan. “Brown fire-spitters teach two-legs our words so thunder-talkers have more fun saying no!” It struck the ground with its tail so forcefully that Orokolga stumbled.
Fire-spitters? It must mean Lissai. “What did Brown fire-spitters tell you to do?”
“Not follow great river. Follow lakes across flat grass left of sunrise. Water good, but food less. If fire-spitter like lake-grass, fire-spitter eat it. Thunder-talkers follow river!”
“Follow lakes, live, and hairless one leaves,” said Shoroko.
“Follow rivers, and hairless one dies,” said the hlisskan.
“Follow lakes and hairless one gives thunder-talkers gift,” said Shoroko.
“Thunder-talkers need no gift!”
Shoroko raised his klafe higher.
“What gift?” said the jummax.
The pain is working. A hopeful Shoroko said, “Hairless one and fire-spitters stop stone voice. Make fire-talkers free.”
The hlisskan smote the muddy ground with his foot. “Silver fire-spitters tried! Silvers fly no more through the skies.”
Shoroko’s heart threatened to explode. His throat was hoarse from screaming in jummax, and his ears throbbed with pain from hearing the full-volume roars of his adversary. Perhaps a knife to the brain was too severe a way to start negotiations. All the neck thrashing had caused the ropes that bound him to the beast to cut deeply into his flesh. He could scarcely feel his legs, and his heart felt only a tiny shred of hope that he could persuade this creature to cooperate. That hope resided in his still-sheathed second knife.
Shoroko’s father taught him a secret, taught him by his father, going back to the beginning. This forbidden secret came with a cost. Even whispering of it carried a death sentence, if ever Claws learned it remained known among Hands. He sheathed his klafe and panted. Air thick with acrid jummax breath made him cough.
“Quitting?” said the jummax. “Good. Swift death to you. I will wear your corpse proudly as necklace.”
Shoroko put his hand on the other knife’s grip. No bluffing with this creature. He’d rather die than use it. He’d be cursed, but might see Melissa once more. The blade slid smoothly from its sheath. It would slide as easily into the jummax’s brain. The thought made his hand shake as he raised it high.
“You want slow death?” said the hlisskan. “Your golden friend we release. Only stab me no more with useless thorn.”
That was it. Shoroko dreaded his punishment, but couldn’t deprive Orokolga of her chance at being reunited with Kilgain. “This is no thorn! This is unicorn horn!”
“Madness! Stupid, stupid, hairless two-legs! Fire-spitters promised! You die! Your family dies! Never the unicorn horn again. Made for life! Not made for death!”
“It will pierce your skull. It will graft itself on. But it will grow inwards. It will grow into your brain, it will puncture your throat. It can never be removed. It is death and agony – forever.”
There was no translation in any language for the howl that erupted from the hlisskan’s throat.
“I, Shoroko, am descended from Nimrod! I am his rightful heir! No greater hunter ever lived, and his spirit is in me. Yield! Yield to me and live. Resist me and die forever.”
Shoroko felt legs buckling below him. The creature fell to its knees. “I yield.”
“Tell them! Tell them we march for Redbridge!”
The jummax rose to its feet. “There is no telling, only leading.” It turned to the right and the march resumed.
Orokolga walked at Shoroko’s side. “Now I understand why you are beloved of Melissa. You look like a Hand, but you are not. You have the heart of a dragon.”
Shoroko smiled through the pain. Thousands of jawmaxtons now followed his command. They herded tens of millions of snarling, hungry, exhausted animals with an iron hand, more expertly than if all the Lissai on Kibota were in attendance. They’d follow a chain of lakes northeast to Redbridge on the Silverthorn and bypass most croplands. His people were safe – from this southern threat. The migration from the west was in other hands. He could do no more. “One last favor, Orokolga. Roar if they try to eat me.” Then he passed out.
* * *
Shoroko slept, but no more traveled among worlds, for no body on Earth would receive him. When Melissa’s will was displaced by the siren song of the Census Stone, hers drifted. The first thought to intrude was a memory of Silverthorn not her own. How he hated her perfume. All her White suitors loved the reekacheek-rinse she started using on her mane in imitation of the Browns, but Silverthorn said it hid the real White Talon from him; he loved her as she was.
Melissa’s next sensation was falling, followed by a hard landing. “Oooooh. Ow. Where am I?” It was dark.
“You’re alive. Good.” The voice was Samir’s. She was back in the Sudan. “We fell down a mineshaft. The soldiers stopped looking for us hours ago, but I see no way to climb out.” He flicked on the flash. “I switched it off to save the battery until you awoke.”
Melissa ignored the pain, enabling her next sense to assault her. Overpowering stench made her retch. The first odor she knew well: oil, with burnt overtones. The second stench she wanted to forget, because her work had exposed her to it before. “This is where…”
Samir nodded. “My family’s final home. This is where they dumped the bodies.”
The shaft grew lighter. Samir switched the torch off, but too late. More lights played back and forth on the walls, until one came to rest on the ledge where Melissa and Samir sat. The clicks of safeties being switched off echoed through the chamber.
“Jump!” shouted Samir.
Shards of rock sliced Melissa’s skin as bullets hit all around. She pushed off from the wall and jumped from the ledge into darkness, then into oil, then into the jumbled, rotting, resting place of the dead. Suction pulled her deeper, and the grave made its play for a choice morsel; death embraced the black-haired restorer of life. Not all reavers were lizards, but their animal savagery was the same.
Chapter 31: The Wells of Borgash
April 22nd. Four Rivers.
The evulsive force of the stone sunk hooks into Melissa’s mind and muscle. Yet every kilolissta she flew in its direction diminished its drawing power, until she was able to bank left and pursue a northward course toward Four Rivers. On the morning of the twenty-second, she in the company of Olsurrodot, Mirrorwing, and Lofty K'Fuur lit upon Embassy Knoll and entered her cave. They were soon joined by Genereef.
“All available Claws are needed at the ford to the north, and Trample to the northeast,” said Genereef.
Fresh liosh had been delivered to her cave. Someone didn’t get the memo. Or are they trying to tempt me? “I’m spent from facing the birds and fighting the stone. Help yourself to my liosh.”
Mirrorwing and Olsurrodot accepted her offer, tapped a keg apiece, and chugged the black treat.
“Acch, poooot,” spat Mirrorwing. A black speck shot from his mouth against the wall of the cave with a clink.
Melissa turned her head and blinked. She shuffled over, took the speck between her claws and lifted it from the dust. She dipped it in a basin of water, shook it and
lifted it up to her eye. It was a spent shell casing.
While she puzzled over that troubling discovery, the others discussed Anspark’s disturbing actions with Genereef.
“Did you see him mix the elixir?” Genereef asked K'Fuur.
“No.”
“Until we have proof, say nothing,” said Genereef. “If he persists in this madness, his forces will be unstoppable and wreak misery in the ranks of Hand and Claw alike. He can maintain that the liosh was tainted and the oshtukamat mis-calibrated, and none would dare contradict him.”
“I agree,” said Olsurrodot. “When the migration nears the borders of Menagerie, the balance will shift in favor of the Browns and Greens. Send word to Mistfire so the Whites are well represented.”
“More than that worries me,” said Mirrorwing. “Who betrayed my klatch? If we demonize Anspark and the Reds are innocent of that darker crime, then the guilty ones may rise to power. We must not invest leadership in a cruel beast.”
Melissa hated the thought of worsening matters. “I accept your counsel. We wait.” She cupped the brass-colored casing in her outstretched claw. “But this cannot wait. Where was this liosh drawn?”
Genereef held out his upturned paw and Melissa placed the hollow metal tube in it. “What is it?”
“The remains of an explosive-driven projectile,” said Melissa. “It is fired from a metal cylinder at extreme velocity. A bullet of this gauge is capable of killing almost any animal on this planet.”
Olsurrodot examined the markings on the barrel. “This liosh was drawn at Borgash.”
“No rest after all,” said Melissa.
* * *
Her solo trip to Borgash was away from the stone, so the enervating drag resumed. The sun’s light upon her wings helped her resist, but when she landed, she was exhausted. The rock west of town was like Swiss cheese, brittle and pierced by hundreds of holes of every size. The cratered field was hundreds of lisstai in extent and compassed on three sides by spurs of the two easternmost mountains of the Aliosha range. Between the smallish mountains a canyon cut by a stream emptied into the plain and filled some of the holes with water before continuing on to meet the Floodway. Hundreds of bamboo-like tubes rose from the larger holes and joined into a pipeline. The tubes were cut from moroshticles (wonderful job, harvesting them!), pulled taut and dried until they were straight or formed elbow joints as desired.
A Most Refined Dragon Page 32