A Most Refined Dragon

by Paul Chernoch

  She glided over the bridge. Thick cables hung from the downstream side anchored nets protecting the upper river from danger. Few boats plied the waters to the east. Those barges and sailing ships that did had long rows of crossbow-mounted harpoons and keen-eyed shooters lining their decks. At the edge of their range, roiling coils pierced the surface only to disappear seconds later. Upriver a dozen vessels approached the docks. Her keen eyes spotted Jessnee, Makri, R.J., Callyglip and Thedarra aboard one. She swooped down and hailed them. “I am headed to the accession ceremony.”

  Jessnee cupped his hands around his mouth. “We’ll be at the silver pavilion after we secure – see you there.”

  Melissa banked north, away from the river, and followed the stream of people to a circle of seven pavilions two hundred lisstai from the riverbanks. Each pavilion resembled a seven-sided ziggurat with a ramp sloping down to a field in the middle, where a wide pillar stood, around which spiraled a staircase. The pillar was bare, but the ziggurats were topped by tents whose hue matched one of the seven original klatches. I am white in color, but not in spirit, and rainbow isn’t a color. This affair is the kind for which you get embossed invitations with gold lettering, and I’m not on the list.

  Most carts headed to the black pavilion, which served as a food tent. The blue tent bore the image of a blue flame and was surrounded by torches on poles with blue, flickering flames. Carts carrying wounded Hands and Claws headed to that pavilion. There’s my invitation. Melissa landed at the blue pavilion and set broken bones, cleaned and closed festering wounds, and proved herself Blue enough to earn nods from Anspark and Mistfire, who watched from atop their own pavilions. When she’d tended to every need, she told the olissair in charge she’d return later, should more wounded arrive. She flew through skies crowded with Claws of every color flitting about on accession business, arriving at the Silver pavilion to be greeted by Mirrorwing and Genereef.

  “You could not have made a better entrance,” said Genereef. “Among those you healed was Tongaroi’s niece.”

  “Good. But is it wise for you to be seen with us?” said Melissa. “Won’t it compromise your spy work?”

  “Genereef and I were good acquaintances years ago,” said Mirrorwing. “None should suspect anything.”

  “I, however, suspect everything,” said Melissa. “Why was the accession moved up? Why not next week as planned, after the migration passes?”

  Genereef clawed a map in the dust. “So large a migration from the south is unprecedented. Though ideal that it follows the lakes road, such an outcome is rare.” He traced the route with a swipe of his claw. “The animals will be crossing the river here both going to the stone and coming back. If the accession is not held today, it would have to be postponed. Animals returning to the south will have to wait until all the stragglers have made it north over the bridge, which could take two weeks.”

  “Is that the real reason?” said Melissa.

  Genereef smiled. “What do you think?”

  “Which klatch has the most clutches nearby today?” said Melissa.

  “Menagerie is tied up processing the herds as they arrive at the stone,” said Mirrorwing. “The Browns ensure animals returning to the west take the northern route and don’t collide with those still arriving, causing chaos. Seakeep is divided, with a fair number of Greens protecting the towns along the lakes. Rampart is in a similar situation.”

  “So Anspark holds the strongest position,” said Melissa. She watched as a metal pole four lisstai high was planted in a hole in the open area between the pavilions. Once secured, a pair of furiously flapping Greens lowered two rings with seven spokes over the pole. One ring slipped down until it touched the ground, while the other was secured to the top of the pole. As the rings separated, hundreds of metal filaments stretched out from where they were coiled inside the rings until taut, like a huge birdcage. When that contraption was assembled, the team screwed Hand-sized wooden cylinders into scaffolding, four cylinders to a unit, each pointing inward in a vertical ring. She turned back to face the others. “What will we do about it?”

  “Anspark timed this well,” said Mirrorwing. “Reds died defending Rampart, partly mending the rift between Rampart and Blaze that endures from White Talon’s days as hlissak. And his turnaround with the Hands, brilliant. Anspark long ago made known his disdain for Hands and his desire that they be made to return to Earth. Yet the Reds are born engineers, so when Jessnee arrived with his improved methods, a new partnership arose between Anspark and Metookonsen. In the event of a tie, the Hands cast the deciding vote.”

  “And K'Pinkelek is missing,” said Genereef.

  Melissa’s head shot up. “I just saw him! Chasing Melidessa by Borgash.”

  “The two never returned to Blaze, nor did they reach Four Rivers or the fords.” said Genereef. “K'Fuur left to search for his fair glissond, and now he’s missing. The two of them were our only witnesses regarding Anspark’s deeds.”

  They left unsaid their speculations as to the cause, as a mournful whistling rose in the distance. Melissa looked for its origin without success. All she saw was the big cage. Her cage was bigger; you just couldn’t see the bars.

  At the base of the ramp Jessnee and the others began their climb.

  “Are you permitted to vote in this election?” asked Melissa.

  “My klatch is gone,” said Mirrorwing. “The new hlissosak will remove Garden Isle from the list. Choosing a hlissosak is the last decision in which a Silver will participate.”

  “If you vote for your friend Mistfire, won’t it be deadlocked?” said Melissa. “Two for Anspark, two for Tongaroi, one for Mistfire. The Hand vote wouldn’t give anyone a majority. It would buy us time.”

  Melissa looked toward the bridge. “I wish… Has anyone spotted Shoroko or Orokolga?”

  “The lakes are befogged,” said Genereef. “And by day, under dust. When the herds reach the bridge we’ll know. No Hand is more courageous or more skilled in combat. You will see him again.”

  Frustrated by what she couldn’t see, Melissa turned to what she could see. Tongaroi was pacing and tail-whipping inside his tent, with Poonrapi sitting placidly to the side. The jewel of Seakeep was splendorous to behold. Poonrapi had accessorized most of her green hide with chips of turquoise glued on with resin hardened by flame, accented by ringlets of bronze. She heard a dragon-sigh beside her. Turning, she saw Genereef staring. When he noticed her looking at him, he tore his eyes away.

  “I know gawking, and you were gawking,” said Melissa.

  Genereef shook his head, then bowed. “None that fly the paths of the sea, none as fair as Poonrapi.”

  “Is that Klatch honor talking, or have you personally surveyed every olissair in Seakeep?”

  “You revere science as much as the ancients, but even they knew when no proof of a proposition was needed.” Genereef turned to gaze once more upon his queen.

  Melissa copied. I wonder what Tongaroi and Poonrapi are saying. “Whoa!” Her telescopic eyes zoomed in so fast she got dizzy. She had a clear view of the two hlisskans. As Tongaroi’s jaws moved up and down, Melissa felt the tingling sensation common to her moments of linguistic clarity. The movements of jaw, lip, eye and cheek were no less a language than the spoken, and she mastered lip-reading in an instant.

  “– witnessed Anspark offering his clutches an abominable mixture, but my source says he can’t be found,” said Poonrapi. “How can we delay the vote?”

  “How did we lose the Whites?” said Tongaroi. “Had Anspark suggested moving up the accession vote, I would’ve been suspicious. Mistfire used my perception of his inexperience expertly.”

  “We must mend the breach before more trouble stampedes through. Move to delist before the vote,” said Poonrapi.

  “Such a move would be unpopular.”

  “Mirrorwing and Mistfire are allies. Though Mirrorwing has long disliked Anspark, Mistfire is more likely to win him over than are we. If Mirrorwing votes for Anspark, we lose.”r />
  “A little more time and I’ll have a way to entice Metookonsen to switch his vote. Offer it now and they’ll be suspicious. Time is crueler than the Census Stone today.” Tongaroi breathed fire and slashed at the tent with his claw. It didn’t tear.

  The tentmakers know their buyers’ tempers well, thought Melissa.

  “We do it,” said Poonrapi. “The Silvers are no more, and our maneuver will soon be forgotten.” The hlissak described a slow arc with her right paw to emphasize forgotten. Her slowly shifting tail, soft nods and the way her throat hardly pulsed when she spoke made it look like she was discussing the weather. “Metookonsen’s leverage is strongest now, before the vote. He is not required to cast a vote. If we offer him an enticement to not vote, he is free to extract further concessions at the next gathering. In this way, we may get a draw and win time to find that witness and recall more clutches so we make a stronger showing. Or Anspark is chosen, and later we find cause to recall him. One thing is certain: we do not win today.”

  Outside a Green was carrying an armful of stone cylinders of various lengths the thickness of a Hand’s arm. He stumbled and dropped his load, making a musical clatter. He picked them up and attached them to what looked like a fence by inserting rods through their ends, but some wouldn’t fit.

  There was no answer from Tongaroi beside his wrath-filled eyes. Poonrapi left the Brown tent and flew down to assist her fellow Green arrange the cylinders. “Try installing them in the reverse order.”

  Melissa tore her eyes away from the puzzle of what the Greens were building. “They do not mean to let you vote.”

  “What’s that?” said Mirrorwing, who was just then thanking Thedarra for the muffins she had baked during her boat ride.

  “Poonrapi and Tongaroi intend to delist your klatch before the vote.”

  Mirrorwing answered by flicking his tail as he jumped from the ziggurat and took to the air, spilling muffin crumbs in his wake. She didn’t need to read his lips.

  * * *

  The ceremony began when a White olissair bowed once to each pavilion, then turned and inserted her tail into the space between four of the wooden cylinders. Back and forth she wagged her tail, slapping it against the drum heads. She was joined one at a time by more Claws. Boom. Boom. Then their tails slapped up and down, for a different pitch. Boom. Boom.

  Solemn winds followed, with the gravity of bagpipes and the mystery of panpipes. A dozen lissairn circled above, diving and banking in an entrancing chorus of winged instruments. Slender tubes were fixed to each wing, and as they beat them and flexed them, or dove and coasted, different sets of pipes would open and shut, and the whistling plunged deep into the hearts of all listeners.

  Charging along the ground, a lissair ran his tail along the stone fence, running scales along the lithophone, followed by an olissair striking the stones deftly with her claws, making melodies looking for words of ancient glory to adorn. They were joined by tail-bells jangling softly, like musical crickets waking up the fields of the night.

  When all of this rose to a crescendo, a long chain of Claws swooped down from the clouds and plucked the string cage harp with their tails or wing tips, each circling once before returning to the clouds.

  Only a lull in the symphony enabled a sense beside Melissa’s hearing to engage. Incense rose from smoldering pots ringing the field. She closed her eyes to take in a story of feasts with family, of freedom soaring through clouds and salty evenings lazing on the beach beside whispering seas. A glow snuck through her shut eyelids, and she opened them to new wonders. Sprayed fire lit the sky, a pyrotechnic painting telling tales of Kibota when it was young.

  After an aerial ballet, actors on the ground drenched in silver paint reenacted in dance highlights of the noble life and great sacrifice of Silverthorn. As it finished, Olsurrodot landed atop the central pillar to call the meeting to order. He would attend to the laws and customs of the Lissai. The actors flew to the river to wash off their paint, and once they returned, white once more, every ear was ready.

  Olsurrodot took an amplifying tube into to his paw and stood erect. “A gift lies hidden in this world, which our wise leader labored courageously to uncover. With sadness and gratitude, we declare the end of the age of Silverthorn and begin another. May the gift be found in their time, and the peace and joy for which our hearts long.”

  During Olsurrodot’s dramatic pause, Melissa scanned the audience. Thousands of Lissai had arrived to take the place where the musical instruments had stood. The higher-ranking ones sat on the steps of the ziggurats, sorted into klatches, while others sat on the ground surrounding the pillar. Several hundred Hands sat on the steps of the black pavilion, with Metookonsen at its summit. The White Lissai actors that had been painted silver sat below Mirrorwing in solidarity. The leaders fixed their gaze on Olsurrodot, but at his mention of the gift, the eyes of the younger Claws turned elsewhere; they were watching Melissa.

  Was it hope she saw in their eyes? A disquieting fear of another disappointment? Confusion that their leaders had not acknowledged her presence, explained her purpose, or embraced her mission? Perhaps those feelings lingered a moment, but as those eyes widened, even the leaders could not keep their heads from turning. The sun that day shone equally on all, but more gloriously on one. The subtle green patina that graced her wings shrank, displaced first at the wing tips, then out along the edges, followed by lines inward along the ribs of her wings, before filling out each panel. Melissa was last to notice the transformation, and when she did, she stood and spread her wings wide, an iridescent, saurian peacock drenched with all the colors of the rainbow. She looked at Olsurrodot, alone atop his pillar, saw the longing and despair in his eyes, folded her wings and sat down.

  Speeches and ancient protocols followed. The candidates for hlissosak were introduced, their accomplishments listed, and a solemn time of quiet observed. Then came the hour horrible, the call for a quorum. Counts were taken from each klatch, and only one Silver was present. Mirrorwing was granted permission to speak.

  The lonesome Silver exhaled a great breath and took up the speaking tube. “Nehenoth swallowed up my family, my klatch, and our common leader. A few may yet be rescued, but the glory of the Silvers has passed. I understand that today we shall be removed from the list. Please accord the dead the respect they earned. Allow me to cast one last vote, that the passing generation may share its final measure of wisdom and care with the one being born.”

  Olsurrodot turned in a slow circle, making eye contact with each hlissak in turn. Mistfire nodded yes. Tongaroi shook his head, a no. Poonrapi added her no.

  The sentiment Melissa understood was that Blaze was the klatch most resistant to change, and the Hands had long enjoyed peace under Silverthorn’s leadership, so they could be expected to endorse Mirrorwing’s request and break the tie. All eyes were on Anspark, who stood to gain if Mirrorwing were permitted to vote. He declared, “Blaze has stood for the old ways, but newer days have come. Kibota is changing. The Silvers have my respect and my gratitude, but I must vote no.”

  All eyes were now on Mirrorwing, expecting a speech of defiance, of acquiescence, or of pleading. Instead, he launched himself from the ziggurat, flapped his wings until he had sufficient height, and made a strafing run at the Whites seated on the stairs of his pavilion. He disgorged sheets of flame and bathed the Claws in orange, yellow and red. That was odd, but the unsurprised and stoic response of those Whites was odder. Their scaly hides blistered and cracked and grey ash fell to the ground about them. Mirrorwing fanned them with his wings, blew out the flames and scattered the ashes. The actors from the opening ceremony that had been painted Silver and washed their paint off in the river were now revealed to have been wearing a second, waterproof coat of white paint, now stripped bare by the heat. They had not pretended to be Silvers, they were Silvers.

  Mirrorwing returned to his spot at atop the pavilion. “The Silvers will vote today, but Garden Isle thanks you for letting her know whom she may count
as her friends.”

  Melissa’s pulse raced. She whispered, “Genereef, did you know?”

  Hushed conversations changed swiftly to heady debate throughout the assembly. Genereef didn’t need to whisper back. “The Tongues of Silver were unaware.”

  “They must have suspected even your group.”

  “I cannot blame them.”

  Olsurrodot flew down, spoke to a few Claws and returned to his podium. They pounded on the drums until order was restored. The moderator locked eyes with Mistfire, then Anspark, then Tongaroi and Poonrapi. Last of all, he stared at Mirrorwing. They each nodded, and he announced, “Kibota, decide!”

  Tongaroi’s assistant shouted, “Hlissak Tongaroi of Menagerie.”

  Poonrapi said, “Hlissak Tongaroi.”

  Rougelek spoke for Blaze. “Hlissak Anspark.”

  Mirrorwing shouted, “Hlissak Mistfire of Rampart.”

  Mistfire waved his assistant aside. “A great honor, to be sure, but the weight of hlissak only recently was placed upon my shoulders, and I have not been tested. I ask my friend Mirrorwing to withdraw.”

  Mirrorwing looked to the skies. Melissa knew it was not for the wonder of the heavens or the entrancing shapes of the clouds, but to hide the anguish in his eyes. “Mirrorwing withdraws.”

  “Then Rampart names Hlissak Anspark of Blaze.”

  Metookonsen rose from his chair atop the black pavilion. “The Hands do not wish to trouble your counsel with a vote at this time. This is your crisis and your calamity; it is no time for us to agitate you with our opinion on this weighty matter. We shall wait upon Lord Mirrorwing to reflect and make a considered choice. We do, however, want to commend Hlissak Anspark for his recent initiatives and remarkable cooperation on many issues, from plans for rail transport, new canals, defensive measures, and rights of way for roads, mines and telegraph lines. Regardless of whom is chosen as hlissosak, we look forward to many new projects of mutual benefit.”