Spellsinger

by neetha Napew

  waiting.

  Let's see... why should he not modify a song to fit the need of the moment?

  Therefore, ergo, and so forth.... "Yellow salamander" didn't scan the same as

  "yellow submarine," but it was close enough. "We all live on a yellow

  sal'mandee, yellow sal'mandee, yellow sal'mandee...."

  At the beginning of the chorus there was a disturbance in the water. It

  broadened into a wide whirlpool.

  "They're down there, then," murmured Clothahump excitedly, peering at the

  surface. He tried to divide his attention between the river and the singer.

  "Maybe a little longer on the verbs, my boy. And a little more emphasis on the

  subjeets of seeking. Sharply on the key words, now."

  "I don't know what the key words are," Jon-Tom protested between verses. "But

  I'll try."

  What happened was that he sang louder, though his voice was not the kind suited

  to shouting. He was best at gentle ballads. Yet as he continued the song became

  easier. It was almost as if his brain knew which of the words catalyzed the

  strange elements of quasi-science Clothahump called magic. Or was the wizard

  right, and science really quasi-magic?

  This was no time, he told himself furiously as he tried to concentrate on the

  song, for philosophizing. A couple of jetboats might be even more useful....

  Careful, remember the riding snake! Ah, but that was a fluke, the natural result

  of an uncertain first-time try at a new discipline. Sheer accident. At the time

  he'd had no idea of what he'd been doing or how he'd been doing it.

  Salamanders Clothahump wanted and salamanders he'd get.

  Now the water in the vicinity of the whirlpool was beginning to bubble

  furiously.

  "There they are!" yelled Talea.

  "Blimey but the lad's gone an' done it." Mudge looked pridefully at his wailing

  ward.

  For his part Jon-Tom continued the song, sending notes and words skipping like

  pebbles out across the disturbed river. Water frothed white at the center of the

  whirlpool, now bubbling to a respectable height. Occasionally it geysered twenty

  feet high, as if something rather more massive than a lowly salamander was

  stirring on the river bottom.

  Talea and Caz were the first to frown and begin backing away from the shore.

  "Jon-Tom," she called to him, "are you sure you know what you're doing?"

  Oblivious now to outside comments, he continued to sing. Clothahump had told him

  that a good wizard or spellsinger had to always concentrate. Jon-Tom was

  concentrating very hard. "

  "My boy," said Clothahump slowly, rubbing his lower jaw with one hand, "some of

  the words you're using... I know context is important, but I am not sure..."

  Bubbles and froth rose three times the height of a man. There was a watery

  rumble and it started moving toward shore. If there were any amphibians out

  there, it was apparent they now likely numbered more than half a dozen.

  The violence finally penetrated Jon-Tom's concentration. It occurred to him that

  perhaps he might be better off easing back and trying a new song. But Flor was

  watching, and it was the only watery song he knew. So he continued on despite

  Clothahump's voiced uncertainty.

  At least something was out there.

  There was thunder under the water now. Suddenly, a head broke the froth, a head

  black as night with eyes of crimson. There was a long narrow snout, slightly

  knobbed at the tip and crowded with razor ivories. Bat-wing ears fluttered at

  the sides and back of the skull. The head hooked from a thickly muscled, scaly

  neek and ran into a massive black chest shot through with lines of iridescent

  purple and azure. Red gills ran half the length of the neck.

  A forefoot rose up out of the water. It was bigger than Jon-Tom, whose fingers

  had frozen on the strings of the duar as completely as the remaining words of

  the stanza had petrified in his mouth.

  The sun continued to shine. Only a few dark clouds pockmarked the sky, but

  around them the day seemed to grow darker. The thick, leathery foot, dripping

  moss and water plants from black claws the length of a man's arm, moved forward

  to land hi a spray of water. Webbing showed between the digits.

  The elegant nightmare opened its mouth. A thin stream of organic napalm emerged

  in a spray that turned the water several yards short of the sandy peninsula into

  instant cloud.

  "Ho!" said a distinct, rumbling voice that made Pog sound positively sweet by

  comparison, "who dares to disturb the hibernation of Falameezar-aziz-Sulmonmee?

  Who winkles me forth from my home inside the river? Who seeks," and the great

  toothy jaws curved lower on the muscular neck-crane, "to join great Falameezar

  for lunch?"

  Mudge had scuttled backward and was nearing the edge of the forest. The dragon

  tilted its head, sighted, and closed one eye. His mouth tightened and he spat. A

  tiny fireball landed several feet ahead of Mudge, incinerating some bushes and a

  medium-sized birch. Mudge halted instantly.

  "You have summoned me... but I have not dismissed you." The head was now almost

  drooping directly over Jon-Tom, who was developing a crick in his neck from

  looking up at it.

  "Know that I am Falameezar-aziz-Sulmonmee, Three Hundred and Forty-Sixth of the

  line of Sulmonmeecar, Dragons of all the River, who guard the fast depths of all

  the rivers of all the worlds! Who, practitioner of rashness, might you be?"

  Jon-Tom tried to smile. "Just a stranger here, just passing through, just

  minding my own business. Look now, uh, Falameezar, I'm sorry I disturbed you.

  Sometimes I'm not too prudent in certain things. Like, my elocution never seems

  able to keep up with my enthusiasm. I was really trying to summon some

  salamanders and--"

  "There are no salamanders here," thundered the voice from behind the teeth. The

  dragon made a reptilian smile. A black gullet showed beyond the teeth. "I have

  already eaten all who swam hereabouts. The others have fled to safer waters,

  where I must soon follow." The smile did not fade. "You see, I am often hungry,

  and must take sustenance where I can find it. To each according to his needs,

  isn't that right?"

  Clothahump raised his hands.

  "Ancestor of the lizard neat,

  Troubler of our tired feet,

  On your way I bid you go,

  Lest we your internal temp'rature low."

  The dragon glanced sharply at the turtle. "Cease your mumblings, old fool, or

  I'll boil you in your shell. I can do that before you finish that incantation."

  Clothahump hesitated, then fell silent. But Jon-Tom could see his mind working

  furiously. If someone could give him a little more time...

  Without thinking, he took several steps forward until the water was lapping at

  the tops of his boots. "We mean you no harm," there was a faint dragon-chuckle

  and puffs of smoke drifted from scaly nostrils, "and I'm sorry if we disturbed

  you. We're on a mission of great importance to--"

  "The missions and goings and comings of the warmlanders are of no interest to

  me." The dragon sounded disgusted. "You are all economically and socially

  repressive." His head dipped again and he moved closer, a black mountain
/>   emerging from the river. Now Falameezar was close enough to smash the duar

  player with one foot.

  Somewhere behind him he could hear Flor whispering loudly, "A real dragon! How

  wonderful!" Next to her, Talea was muttering sentiments of a different kind.

  "You live or become food," said the dragon, "at my whim. That is the way of

  dragons who chance upon travelers. As is our way, I will offer you the chance to

  win your freedom. You must answer a riddle."

  Jon-Tom sloshed water with one foot. "I'm not much at riddles."

  "You have no choice. In any case, you need not worry yourself much." Saliva was

  trickling from his lower jaw. "Know that not one who has come my way has been

  able to answer my riddle."

  " 'Ere now, mate," Mudge called to him encouragingly, "don't let 'im intimidate

  you. 'E's just tryin' t' frighten you out o' careful consideration o' your

  reply."

  "He's succeeding," Jon-Tom snapped back at the foolhardy otter. He looked back

  up at the mouth waiting to take him in one bite. "Isn't there some other way we

  can settle this? It's not polite to eat visitors."

  "I did not invite you," growled the dragon. "Do you prefer to end it now by

  passing over your right to try and answer?"

  "No, no!" He glanced sideways at Clothahump. The wizard was clearly mumbling

  some sort of spell soft enough so the dragon could not overhear, but either the

  spell was ineffective or else the wizard's capricious memory had chosen this

  inopportune moment to turn to mush.

  "Go ahead and ask," he said, still stalling. Sweat was making his indigo shirt

  stick to his back.

  The dragon smelled of mud and water and pungent aquatic things. The thick smell

  gave Jon-Tom something to concentrate on besides his fear.

  "Then riddle me this," rumbled the dragon. He lolled in the shallow water,

  keeping a sharp, fiery eye on the rest of the frightened group.

  "What is the fundamental attribute of human nature... and of all similar

  natures?" He puffed smoke, hugely enjoying Jon-Tom's obvious confusion.

  "Love!" shouted Talea. Jon-Tom was shocked at the redhead's uncharacteristic

  response to the question.

  "Ambition," suggested Flor.

  "Greed." No need to see who'd said that. It could only have come from Mudge.

  "A desire to better one's self without harming one's fellows." That was Caz's

  graceful offering. At least, it was graceful until he added, "Any more than

  necessary."

  "Fear," said the stuttering Pog, trying to find a tree to hide behind without

  drawing the dragon's attention.

  "The wish to gain knowledge and become wise," said Clothahump, momentarily

  distracted from his spell weaving.

  "No, no, no, no, and no!" snorted the dragon contemptuously, searing the air

  with a gout of flame. "You are ignorant as all. All that fools have to recommend

  themselves is their taste."

  Jon-Tom was thinking heetically about something the dragon had said before.

  Yes... his comment about the warmlanders being "economically and socially

  repressive." Now the riddle sounded almost familiar. He was sure he recognized

  it, but where, and was there more to it that might be the answer? His brain

  rumbled and hunted desperately for the distant memory.

  Falameezar hissed, and water boiled around Jon-Tom's boots. He could feel the

  heat even through the thick leather. He wondered if he would turn red, like a

  lobster... or black, like burnt toast.

  Perhaps the dragon could read minds as well as he could pose riddles. "I will

  now give you another choice. I can have you steamed or broiled. Those who would

  prefer to be steamed may step into the river. Those who prefer broiling remain

  where you are. It is of no matter to me. Or I can eat you raw. Most meals find

  precooking preferable, however."

  Come on, meal, he chided himself. This is just another test, but it may be the

  last one if you don't...

  "Wait. Wait a minute! I know the answer!"

  The dragon cocked a bored eye at him. "Hurry up. I'm hungry."

  Jon-Tom took a deep breath. "The fundamental attribute of human nature is...

  productive labor." For good measure he added casually, "Any fool knows that."

  The dragon's head reared back, dominating the sky. Batwing ears fluttered in

  confusion, and for a moment he was so startled he choked on his own smoke.

  Still menacingly, but uncertain now, he brought his massive jaws so near that

  Jon-Tom could have reached out and caressed the shiny black scales. The air was

  full of dampness and brimstone.

  "And what," he rumbled, "determines the structure of any society?"

  Jon-Tom was beginning to relax a little. Unbelievable as it seemed, he felt safe

  now. "Its economic means of production."

  "And societies evolve... ?"

  "Through a series of crises caused by internal contradictions," Jon-Tom finished

  for him.

  The dragon's eyes flashed and his jaws gaped. Though confident he'd found the

  answer, Jon-Tom couldn't help but back away from those gnashing teeth. A pair of

  gigantic forefeet rose dripping from the water. Tiny crustaceans scrambled

  frantically for cover.

  The feet lunged toward Jon-Tom. He felt himself being lifted into the air. From

  somewhere behind him Flor was yelling frantically and Mudge was muttering a

  dirge.

  An enormous forked tongue as startlingly red as the slitted eyes emerged from

  the mouth and flicked wetly at Jon-Tom's face.

  "Comrade!" the dragon declaimed. Then Jon-Tom was gently deposited back on dry

  land.

  The dragon was thrashing at the water in ecstasy. "I knew it! I knew that all

  the creatures of this world could not exist ignorant of the true way." He was so

  happy he blew fire simply from pure joy, though now he carefully directed it

  away from his stunned audience.

  The otter ran out onto the sand, sidled close to the tall human. "Crikey, mate,

  be this more o' your unexpected wizardry?"

  "No, Mudge." He wiped dragon spit from his cheeks and neek. It was hot to the

  touch. "Just a correct guess. It was sparked by something he'd said to us

  earlier. Then it came back to me. What I don't understand is how this bonafide

  dragon was transformed into a dedicated Marxist."

  "Maziwhich? Wot's that? Some otherworldly magickin', maybe?"

  "Some people think so. Others would regard it more as pure superstition. But for

  God's sake, don't say anything like that to him or we'll all find ourselves in

  the soup, literally."

  "Pardon my curiosity," he called to the dragon, "but how did you happen to

  stumble on the," he hesitated," 'true way'?"

  "It happens on occasion that dragons stumble into interdimensional warps,"

  Falameezar told him as he calmed himself down. "We seem prone to such

  manifestations. I was suspended in one for days. That is when it was revealed to

  me. I have tried to make others see but," he shrugged massive black shoulders,

  "what can but one do in a world aswarm with voracious, ravenous capitalists?"

  "What indeed?" murmured Jon-Tom.

  "Even if one is a dragon. Oh, I try now and then, here on the river. But the

  poor abused boatmen simply have no comprehension of the labor theory of valu
e,

  and it is quite impossible to engage even the lowliest worker in an honest

  socialist dialectic."

  "I know the problem," said Jon-Tom sympathetically.

  "You do?"

  "Yes. As a matter of fact, we're all embarked on a journey right now, we seven

  comrades, because this land which you say is filled with capitalists is about to

  be invaded and overrun by an entire nation of totalitarian capitalists, who wish

  to enslave completely the, uh, local workers to a degree the primitive bosses

  hereabouts can't begin to match."

  "A terrible prospect!" The dragon's gaze turned to the others. "I apologize. I

  had no idea I was confronting fellow crusaders of the proletariat."

  "Dead right," said Mudge. "You ought t' be ashamed o' yourself, mate." He began

  cautiously moving back toward the sand. Clothahump looked at once intrigued and

  puzzled, but for the moment the wizard was quite content to let Jon-Tom do the

  talking.

  "Now then, comrade." The massive black shape folded its forelegs and squinched

  down in the sandy shallows. "What can I do to help?"

  "Well, as you would say, from each according to his ability to each according to

  his need."

  "Just so." The dragon spoke in a tone usually employed for the raising of

  saints.

  "We need to warn the people against the invasion of the bosses. To do so we must

  warn the local inhabitants of the most powerful center of government. If we

  could get upstream as quickly as possible--"

  "Say no more!" He rose majestically on hind legs. A great surge of water nearly

  washed away their packs. As the dragon turned, his thick black and purple tail,

  lined with rigid bumps and spinal plates, stretched delicately onto the sand.

  "Allow me the honor. I will take you wherever you wish, and far more quickly

  than any capitalist pig of a boat master could manage. On one condition." The

  tail slipped partway back into the river.

  Jon-Tom had been about to start up the tail and now hesitated warily. "What's

  that?"

  "That during the course of our journey we can engage in a decent philosophical

  discussion of the true nature of such matters as labor value, the proper use of

  capital, and alienation of the worker from his output. This is for my own use. I

  need all the ammunition I can muster for conversing with my fellows. Most

  dragons are ignorant of the class struggle." He sounded apologetic. "We tend to