How do you reply to such a greeting? Melissa rose to her feet as under a great weight, while a million bird wings darkened her vision and a million birdcalls deafened her ears. They cried for the freedom she longed to impart, a freedom she did not possess. “Your care for the bodies of your subjects I admire. Do you care also for their souls? Do you make their limbs strong but their minds weak? I drank unknowingly and unwillingly of the poison that brings might mixed with madness. Do you now embrace this diabolical libation? Does the creator of all life smile when you drink your enemies’ blood?”
All around the hilltop, dazed eyes narrowed into wrathful ones, claws extended, and flame-jets lit the gloom. Everyone acted as expected, except Anspark. His rage simmered at the edge of an eruption, with nervous tremors wracking his body. Melissa sniffed the air and gained insight into the workings of his regal heart. His political mind began to control and channel his body’s response, retracting claw and slowing pulse. His craftiness sifted words and consequences, but before his mouth could respond, another reflex took hold. He unfastened his vest and gingerly lay it aside. Then he kneeled.
“I, Anspark, Hlissosak of Kibota, acted rashly, risking Heaven’s wrath and injury to those who entrusted me with the solemn task of leading our nation. In time of crisis, I authorized the use of human blood to strengthen our arms, aware of the consequences but too proud and foolish to seek an alternative or accept the cost of acting ethically. My brother and sister wings, tails and claws, at your suffrage, I lay down my title and authority or take it up again. While you decide, I will seek the Grantor’s forgiveness.” He flew to a lonely pillar jutting from the plain a hundred lisstai from the fortress.
Whispered words and canvassing for a decision occurred without Melissa paying attention. Lissairn flew in every direction and an hour later returned, but she reeled from the magnitude of what she had witnessed. Was it real? Where were the spin doctors, public relations teams, scandal consultants, and pundits? She wasn’t ready to abandon her low view of the war mongering, xenophobic, musclebound beast from Blaze.
After the last messenger returned, Mirrorwing spoke. “Lord Anspark’s apology is sincere. I am convinced he will never employ such means again. I speak for Garden Isle.”
“I wield the authority of Rampart,” said Parassam. “The Whites accept Anpark’s admission and contrition.”
The delegates for the Browns and Greens insisted on an investigation, but sensing strong support from the other klatches, did not call for Anspark to step down immediately. Melissa was surprised when they turned to her.
“With courage you challenged the powerful and were proven right,” said Elek-Mouton. “You have earned the right to decide. Shall Lord Anspark remain as hlissosak?”
They are leaving this up to me? Are they crazy? A moment’s reflection told her why. One side respected her courage while the other was counting on the animosity she inherited from White Talon. She looked beyond numberless shuffling animals to the spire where Anspark sat. A leader who can admit wrong. Isn’t that what we all hope for? All this time I’ve played the loyalist, trying to restore Silverthorn to the throne, a Claw I’ve never met. Hasn’t this Claw proven his worthiness? She looked to the heavens for a sign, like a break in the cloud of birds letting light shine on the lonely form of the penitent on the rock. No sign came, and still the eyes stared at her, waiting. I misjudged Anspark as guilty, just as I misjudged White Talon as innocent. Will I ever figure these people out?
Melissa paced in a circle, which in that crowded space meant awkwardly thwapping one Claw after another with her tail. “You honor me by offering this choice. I am a child in your sight, a tenth as old as your leaders. I lack wisdom to make a sound decision. I defer to your superior understanding. Lord Anspark is Hlissosak. His actions today are honorable, and I honor him.”
Elek-Mouton pointed his wing at the solitary rock, so Melissa flew over to fetch Anspark back. She landed beside him. He gave her his attention in silence.
“You are accepted,” said Melissa.
“Do you accept me?” said Anspark. He used not the voice of command, but the voice a father uses with a daughter.
“Where are K'Pinkelek and Melidessa? And Lofty K'Fuur?”
“We continue to search. Late last night we found signs that they crossed the Bittersweet in haste. Why they travel in secret…” No need to complete his thought. He was the reason.
“K'Fuur is with them?”
“Yes.”
Melissa tasted the air with her tongue. She wasn’t as skilled as Mirrorwing, but he spoke truly. “I accept you. Earlier I came to warn about you. Now I come to warn you. I feared speaking openly, because I didn’t want to strengthen your position before I knew if you could be trusted. The Silvers were betrayed by a Claw. After consulting with Mirrorwing and others, I am certain it was not a Red. Mirrorwing’s kin lived secretly in Rampart for seven years, so it is unlikely the villain came from there. Hlissak Tongaroi’s ambition is notorious, so we suspect him.”
“Have you evidence?”
“No. We do know animals on migration departed from their normal route to conduct the attack. Who but Browns could command them?”
“The animals never listen,” said Anspark.
“What if you tell them not to go somewhere?” said Melissa.
“I have seen twice the number of Brown overflights this year,” said Anspark. “Their interference could be the reason why the migration from the south is so great.”
“Also the winged attack against Rampart and the early arrival of tuskers at the Gap,” added Melissa. “I learned the Browns are working with recently arrived Hands such as Orjay and Renifaw to discover how to operate the gates to Nehenoth and use that knowledge to advance Menagerie’s interests. Add to this the Browns’ love of perfume. They derived one from the spray of the reekacheek which clouds the ability of Silvers to divine the emotions and motives of other Lissai. This is speculative, but I don’t know what else to do with this information. I’d never have confronted you over the issue of blood if not for Parassam’s faith in your character. I believe that course averted schism and bloodshed among the Lissai, solely because you are a true leader. I don’t know how Tongaroi would react. I leave this matter in your hands, err, I mean claws.”
Anspark’s chest puffed out at her compliment. “A true leader consults his advisers. Let’s fly.”
* * *
If the face of the mesa that was the Census Stone was stamped with nature’s image, the likeness of all its creatures, its crown was stamped with something else entirely. A circle of hundreds of bronze poles varying in height from ten to twenty lisstai supported a slanted oval glass roof. It had the appearance of a cylinder sliced by a slanted plane, or as her sport-fiend acquaintance Ren Fa might say, it looked like the World Series trophy the Red Sox won the year before, but with a parade of ducks instead of duck boats. The poles were topped with myriad pennants, pinwheels, spikes, and other devices aimed at repelling avian pests. For all its beauty, it served one purpose: keeping bird doo off the Browns supervising the census.
In her new role as diplomat, Melissa was accompanied by Mirrorwing, Parassam, Anspark and nine others, a formal clutch-wing. Any moment she expected to be sucked into Oz, because the winged vortex flying over the stone was indistinguishable from a tornado. Every minute a different species peeled off and began its flight home, only to be replaced by new arrivals. The thirteen Claws joined the flapping cyclone and curved inward until they reached the eye and were able to land. Given the vast quantity of droppings splattered about, the Browns’ penchant for perfume made sense.
When Melissa set claw upon the rock, she felt like a pilgrim arriving at a holy shrine. It was a temple dedicated to compassion, a monument to charity and poor planning. The builders tried to save refugees from a world not their own. Now she as one of those refugees was trying to save their world. Their mistake had subjected an entire planet to futility for millennia. What am I doing here?
The gl
ass and bronze circus tent was cordoned off by a circle of flower planters, so they waited for their audience with Tongaroi. In their corner of the plateau was a u-shaped collection of boulders two lisstai high. Standing in its shade, the sound was tolerable. “Mirrorwing,” said Melissa. “You were in Nehenoth for an entire migrata. How much did you accomplish? How are the working conditions?”
“Up and down shift unpredictably, making flight treacherous. Once we restored the lighting, things improved.”
“How? You are unable to read the ancient writing.”
Mirrorwing tapped his head with his paw. “The patterns became familiar. We felt like we could almost read the words. The irrigator repairs consumed months and endless parts had to be replaced or hammered flat. It should have been impossible, but we succeeded. Machines of equal complexity, having similar shape and design, were sometimes easy and sometimes impossible to salvage.”
“Was there a common thread?”
“If the machine improved the normal functioning of the census apparatus, we succeeded. But if we attempted to disable anything, or facilitate our return to Kibota, we failed. The doorways especially resisted our efforts.”
“Broken things are hard to fix. Sneaky things are another matter. That sounds like a security system, R.J.’s specialty. Your insight has been most helpful.”
Mirrorwing snarled and slapped his tail against the stone. “My wretched memory! I should have told you sooner about the repair logs. In them we made careful notes in modern script of every modification we made. We were not the first.”
Melissa wanted to quiz him at length, but Tongaroi’s arrival scotched that. All Mirrorwing had time to say was that every half century a Claw disappeared during migration and never returned. With so many dying from disease or violence, questions never arose. The only name in the log known to him belonged to a Brown skilled with machines who disappeared four migrata back.
She stood in the stone alcove behind Anspark and Mirrorwing with the other Reds. From her vantage, the most interesting sight was not the approaching hlissak of Menagerie, it was the silver survivor. The hairs of Mirrorwing’s mane stood at attention and his breathing escalated. His wings twitched and his tongue worked hard to keep his spit in. Muscle groups flexed and relaxed at random, and given the rich odor escaping from his mouth, the furnace within was stoked for action. A Claw betrayed his people and killed his mate, and the one who commanded the atrocity might be the one standing before them. So focused was Melissa on her companion that she missed the opening pleasantries. They were neither long nor pleasant.
Tongaroi spread his wings with such force that a bronze ornament flew off and clanged against one of the uprights. “Conciliation! Apology! Humility! These were the tokens I expected from one whose mantle adheres to his head by a spider’s thread, not unsupportable allegations whose only purpose can be to distract the people from your disastrous errors!”
Tongaroi’s fulminations and no small amount of fire continued. Melissa didn’t need to hear his denials, she needed to see Mirrorwing’s reaction. The suffering Silver inhaled every trace of air breathed by the Brown leader, tasting, testing, judging every exhalation and preparing his wrath for the instant when certainty arrived.
Melissa sniffed the air as well. Tongaroi was not wearing perfume. Good. We’ll get an unmasked reading. There was nothing good about it, though.
“You will answer these charges!” roared Anspark. “You have one hour to decide. Defy me and you defy all Kibota. Migration or not, I will see this through. If you surrender, it will be the peace our people deserve, but if not– war!”
“War?” said Tongaroi. “I see. It was not enough to drink the blood of Hands. Now you crave the blood of your own kind! Such refreshment you will purchase with great sacrifice. Menagerie, sharpen claw and kindle flame! The innocent do not need an hour to decide. But I offer you that hour to flee to safety, or you will see that Browns are as swift as the ocean wind and as strong as the volcano. And should the so-called Daughter of the Rainbow fly with you, she can mend the bodies of your fallen!”
They left. Kibota’s World Series was underway, but it wasn’t a game.
* * *
Messengers were dispatched to round up as many as could come for battle. Back at the hilltop fortress, it was two hours before sunset when Anspark called the war council. “Elek-Mouton,” said Anspark, “how many from Blaze will be ready to attack tonight?”
“Six thousand. And another three thousand will relieve them by dawn.”
“Parassam, what assistance has Rampart to offer?”
Parassam lowered his head.
“How many?” said Anspark.
“Lord Anspark, I lack authority to commit fighters to battle,” said Parassam. “The earliest you can expect an answer from Mistfire is noon in two day’s time. You are free to ask for volunteers.”
Melissa expected Anspark to fly into a rage, but he didn’t have that luxury.
The hlissosak stuck out his paw. “Get me a map of Menagerie.” While he waited, he said, “How many Browns and Greens are nearby?”
“Over ten thousand,” said one Red. “Twenty thousand by morning. Poonrapi will not hesitate to enter the fray in support of Tongaroi.”
They spread the map before Anspark. “Census Stone. West Menagerie Heights. Cawley. Menagerie City. Seabark Port.” He rattled off the names of Brown settlements, large and small. “If we cannot outnumber Tongaroi, we must divide his strength.” He walked over to Parassam and put his paw on the White Lissai’s shoulder. “If a Brown settlement, even a hatchery, were deserted, would it not be charitable to protect it against predators, especially during this season? Have you the authority to deploy your clutches to occupy and defend their dwellings until the crisis passes?”
“And what might cause a Brown settlement to become vacant?” said Parassam.
“Seeing a large company of Whites arriving in haste without warning suggesting that it would be safer elsewhere.”
“Suggesting peacefully?”
“Yes, peacefully.” Anspark extended his claws, then retracted them.
“Only the smaller settlements?” Parassam pointed to a few places on the map.
Anspark pointed to several more. “As many as offer no resistance.”
“And if they choose to fight?”
“You shall read the proclamation I will be sending promising that the next clutch to be sent will be larger and less accommodating, then depart for the next town.”
“What if they leave but return later with clutches from Tongaroi?”
“That would be a good time to ask for volunteers.”
Parassam ran his claws through his white mane. “I will inquire the mood of Rampart and return shortly.”
“One more thing.” Anspark pounded the floor with his rear foot. “Defend this fortress.”
“That is certainly permitted. I will attend to that task personally.”
“Excellent. Did you enjoy the show that the Silvers put on for us at the accession ceremony?”
“Yes.” Parassam scratched his chin. “How is that…?”
“I want the defenders of the fort painted green.”
Melissa marveled at his cunning. Despite being able to devote only his own klatch to an offensive strike, he would make it seem as though Rampart was all in, and Seakeep divided. She had heard of no wars between klatches for over two thousand years, yet here Anspark was, easily deducing stratagems amidst a crisis. Had events really taken him by surprise?
After the meeting concluded, Melissa cornered Mirrorwing on the road outside the fort, before he could fly with the first wave. “Vengeance against the Browns will not free Silverthorn. We have other work to do. You must not fight in this battle.”
Mirrorwing spread his wings, reared up on his hind legs and came down again hard. “There is no cowardice in my blood! Until the Browns are vanquished, there can be no rescue. They hold the Census Stone.”
Melissa stared him down. “Do you want to un
cover the extent of the conspiracy? Don’t you realize how favorable these conditions are for us?”
Her confidence changed his overheated visage into a perplexed one. He leaned close and swung his head slowly from side to side, sniffing. “You really know a way? Why didn’t you speak during the war council?”
“Because Anspark isn’t going to like what I propose.” The road began to fill up with lissairn exiting through the gate. Melissa turned and began walking. “Follow me. We start by gathering clay.”
* * *
To the left lay a discarded heap of sod, to the right, a flat rock. Melissa scooped pawfuls of clay and splatted them against the rock. With a tree trunk stripped of bark as a rolling pin, she flattened the clay into sheets, then scored it into 8 1/2 x 11 inch squares with a claw. A campfire provided light as dusk arrived.
Mirrorwing finished off another keg of liosh, then sprayed the clay with fire.
“Stop,” said Melissa. “Bake one side. We need to write on the other.”
All her attention was focused on making clay tablets. She refused to look at what was happening behind and above her, but Mirrorwing overcooked a third of the batches because he just had to watch the chaos. The howling wind preceding the imminent storm was not enough to mask battle cries, snarling, screams, and the impact of ancient, majestic creatures falling from heaven. Despite working in clay, the occasional glimpses of terror reflected off Mirrorwing’s eyes, as flashes of dragon-fire illuminated the sky. Millions of migrating beasts had deposited every sort of malodorous effluent, yet only the reek of spilt blood seized her nostrils. Only her doctor’s training kept her on task. Breathe. It’s just blood. Scoop. Throw. Breathe. I’m used to screams. Roll. Slice. Breathe. Can only save one at a time. Stack. This instant that is Mirrorwing. Breathe.
A Most Refined Dragon Page 39