He heard a stirring behind him, but sat staring at the flames. They never tired. Fear got spooked, leapt to his feet, galloped to the edge of the wood and stopped.
Stupid quagga. “Waking so soon, Melissa? You can take a watch if you want. I’m spent.” He felt hot breath on his neck. “That feels good. I was starting to get stiff.”
“Arrorraorroorrah!”
Melissa swiped at him with her claw and knocked him down. Shoroko rolled to the side to escape the next blow, grabbed his rigrash skins and covered his face as the first blast of flame engulfed him. He rose, took three steps and dove into the nearest pool as the second fiery torrent sought him out. He swam submerged. On the other side of the pool he scrambled out and sprinted toward Fear. Melissa snapped her tail, sending a boulder sailing toward him. Crunch. His skull split open and he fell, unconscious.
* * *
With another roar, Melissa charged to his side, reared up and prepared for the killing strike. Everything was dizzy. She saw double, and felt fire in her veins. When she looked down, she saw Shoroko, unmoving. She backed off. “No! What did I do!” She said much more, but there was no language to it, only raw horror, remorse, and despair. She charged at trees, uprooting them. Then she unleashed a fireball that set the forest ablaze. Then she cried.
“Naaaaay!”
She heard the hoofbeats, but didn’t look up. “I’m so sorry Fear. I’ve killed him. Go home.” She waved her claw to indicate the direction, then let it fall limp to her side.
Melissa heard a second set of hooves. She looked up. At the edge of the wood, a trail of moonlight struck the night-tresses and caused them to bloom. In their midst, stood a tall, white vision. Through her tears, only the legs and chest were clear. The beast walked forward.
When Fear walked, his head bobbed up and down with each step. This creature glided across the grass. Its hooves were silver, its mane white gold. It passed by Melissa, knelt at Shoroko’s side, and bowed its head. Only then did she see the long spike fixed at the center of its forehead. The creature tapped its horn once on the wounded man’s head, once on his shoulder, and once on his leg. Then it stood, walked over to Melissa, and touched its horn to her wing, her head, and her chest.
It walked away. As it reached the edge of the wood, it stopped and looked back. Shoroko blinked his eyes, jumped to his feet and assumed a defensive posture. His eyes followed Melissa’s and he saw the unicorn. Then it was gone.
“I am sorry.” Melissa turned away. “For what I did, I do not deserve your care, respect or forgiveness.”
* * *
Shoroko drew his klafe, staggered a few steps, then stopped. He sheathed his blade and leaned against a rock, with the fight drained out of him. “Why?”
“I don’t remember the start of our battle, only the end. This must be the madness that drove me to harm your sister. I cannot control it. Our mission cannot succeed. Release me or kill me, but do not force me to walk with you.”
Shoroko looked back at where the unicorn had been. Lissai are obsessed with unicorns, but no unicorn ever lets a Lissai approach. Bothers them terribly. They only come to young women with no husbands. “Do you feel crazy now?”
“No.”
Shoroko walked around her, studying every inch of her hide. “What did the unicorn touch?”
“My head, wing, and chest.”
“Flap your wings.”
Melissa complied. “No pain.”
“Fly.”
“I’m tired.”
“FLY.”
Melissa galloped around the fountains, flapping her wings. This tossed up a lot of dust, but no dragon. “I need more clearance. Too enclosed.”
“I’ve seen Lissai fly. On sound wings that’s plenty of room for a takeoff.” He walked up and looked her in the eyes. “Can you remember?”
Melissa couldn’t hide behind the towering facade of strength any longer. “No.”
He looked even deeper into her eyes. “Are you White Talon?”
She panted. Her chest muscles tightened. “Uh, which part?”
Chapter 6: Faithful River
April 3rd, Ramcanopa.
They talked no more until dawn. Melissa’s sleep threatened to undo the unicorn’s miraculous touch. Her dreams took her four times to the brink of death: in a wrecked plane spinning out of control, by the claws of the Lissai after being exposed as an impostor, at the bedside of a patient she was fighting to save, and finally, by the knife of the man she desired. When she awoke, Shoroko stood waiting, arms crossed and stern faced.
“Who are you?”
She studied his black locks and penetrating green eyes. He’s everything I wanted, which means too smart to fool. I have to be a dragon, or I’m useless to him. I want to be a woman, or he’s unobtainable to me. She reached out her claw, drew in hard clay the hospital patient from her dream, and spun her yarn. “Do you remember the image in White Talon’s crystal sphere?”
“The silver Lissai?”
“It was no Lissai. It was me. I was dying, White Talon was dying, and our souls were exchanged.” She finished drawing the bed and the outline of the girl in the dirt.
“Again: who are you?”
“I am Melissa, a daughter of the nightingale.” Florence Nightingale, that is.
“Is that a kind of bird?” Shoroko shifted his right hand to scratch his beard stubble.
“It’s a songbird with a healing touch. In my world, doctors – like your friend Jessnee – use nightingales to treat their patients, like the girl I’m drawing.”
“A bird would know how to fly.”
“Nightingales are small. Different lungs, different muscles, different everything. I can learn.”
“This explains your healing flame.”
“It does.” He’s buying it. She concentrated on her sketch, filling in the eyes, the nose…
Shoroko looked down, put his hand on his heart and took two steps back. “How?” Anguish overshadowed his face.
“Do you recognize her?”
“It’s Sho-Sho!” He knelt, put his hands over his eyes and whispered, "Come back, my Sister Moon." When the tears he tried to conceal ceased, he looked up. “Melissa has never seen my sister, but White Talon has. You are not less than a Lissai, you are more.” He stood. “We have to get to the river.” He whistled for Fear.
Melissa extended her claw to restrain him. “Aren’t you forgetting last night?”
He loaded his quagga with fresh water and fruit.
“Next time there won’t be a unicorn to rescue us. I’ll kill you.”
He tightened the straps to secure the baggage.
She slapped the ground with her tail in irritation. “Then I’ll find out what caused it the hard way.” Melissa walked to the mineral spring and gulped a belly full of strong-tasting water. Nothing. From the grove she slurped a dozen tearfruit. Nothing again.
Shoroko swung his leg over his mount and clenched his reins. “Everyone knows the moon causes madness. Let’s go. I’ll sleep afternoons and climb a tree at night.”
Melissa nodded at the shattered trees and smoldering hillside. “It has to be something I ate, drank or breathed. What’ve I missed?”
Shoroko eyed the buckets. “Can’t be. Lissai drank from this liosh seep for hundreds of migrata and never harmed a single Hand.”
“Why don’t you get a head start and let Fear earn his name?”
Instead of arguing, Shoroko dug his heels into Fear’s side and galloped away.
Melissa tromped into the woods. Her nose led her to a marsh oozing black gold. She leaned and stuck her tongue in. An acquired taste, but it grows on you. Nothing happened, so she sucked up a mouthful. A little tingly, but no rush like last time. Gulp, gulp. She couldn’t help herself, plunged her snout in and chugged a keg full.
The next thing she remembered was air in her wings, sun in her eyes, and the world left behind. Flocks scattered as she cavorted with the wind. Faster, faster! Roller-coaster ecstasy swelled in her stomach. Every downstr
oke was a gallop of joy. The sun glistened on a ribbon of water. Circular ripples shouted their promise. Fish! Melissa dove with abandon.
As she neared the river, she spied a semicircle of fire pushing out a peninsula into the stream. Trapped at the end of the spit of land stood a man and his terrified quagga. He escaped my fire? He won’t escape my talons. Let’s fish on land! She let out a full-throated roar and banked towards him. Down, down, like lightning she flashed, before pulling out and zooming straight at the helpless man with the empty quiver.
Shoroko stood unmoving, with nowhere to run and no way to fight. He straightened his back and awaited death’s arrival. His posture said courage, his face, something else: Don’t you know who I am?
What are we doing? Killing. Why? Tasty! But why? Angry! See fish? Where? The man’s trapped, but they’ll swim away. Save him for later. Eat fish! Melissa swooped around Shoroko and splashed into the Faithful River. Her reflexes were good. Slash, slash, bat with one paw and cup, slap, spear with the other. Chomp, snap with the jaws, break the neck, and fish halfway down her gullet before she realized she didn’t know how to swim.
Shoroko secured his rope to his saddle, lassoed her and fished her out. Fear wasn’t happy about it, but the wall of flame was persuasive. “You enjoyed that too much.”
“What? No thanks for not killing you?”
“Ask again after you finish saving us.” Shoroko pointed to the river. “Water.” He pointed to the flames. “Fire.” He patted her snout. “Hope you’re thirsty.” He sat on a rock ten feet from shore to whittle a new set of arrows.
During her firefighting exercise Melissa came to a most sensible conclusion. Liosh isn’t the only thing driving me crazy.
* * *
Thud. A xylophone chord startled their striped sidekick, who bolted, knocking Shoroko into an ash heap.
“Careful! We’re supposed to ride the logs, not the other way around.”
“I’m a hlissak and a healer, not a logger. Enough timber. You line ‘em up. I’m hungry.” Melissa waded into the shallows and waited for lunch to swim by. Swipe, snag. Four footer. Yum. She slapped its head on a rock, tossed it into the air and flash-fried it with a white cooking flame. Then she speared the head with a claw and with a mighty flick had a tasty fillet. In sweet anticipation, the ravenous olissair dangled the treat over her mouth.
“One of us is working hard over here.”
“Grrrrrr.” Melissa sliced off a steak and flung it at Shoroko. “You are the baby chick who won’t leave the nest.” Gulp, slobber, slobber. “Needs salt. And tearfruit.” She splashed her way to shore to inspect the raft’s progress.
Shoroko scratched his head and surveyed the array of timber. “You flew masterfully when you wanted to kill me. You sure we need a raft this big? It’ll be hard to steer. Might run aground at the third rapids.”
“I’m sure, unless you want to risk your life with me a third time.”
Fear snorted a big “No”.
“Alright, let’s get some… vines.” He looked left and right. “You burned them all.” He plopped down on the nearest log. “How am I going to lash them together now?” He kicked the sand on the beach in frustration and out popped a translucent blob.
Melissa studied the bulbous mass. “I’ll take care of it.” She stepped to the side and slapped her tail in the sand.
“Aah! I can’t see! Warn me next time.” He covered his eyes and stumbled toward the river to wash. When the sandstorm she’d whipped up cleared, the logs were buried a foot deep in sand. “Now you’ve buried our raft. Next time I run into that unicorn, I’m complaining. There’s more than liosh and my knife wound that’s wrong with you.”
You are going to eat more than my fish soon. Melissa inhaled and drew herself erect.
“No… No…” Shoroko raised his hand and backed up. “I didn’t mean that.”
Her response was a blast of yellow flame. She squirted it left and right over the surface of the sand. The exposed edges of the logs began to smolder, then the sand softened and pooled. Melissa paused to breathe, the covering flame ceased, and the raft was clad in glass. She grabbed it with both claws, gave a heave, and flipped the raft onto its back with a splash, half on water. She buried that side in sand and repeated the process. While Shoroko stared in awe, she melted a hole through the glass and stuffed in an upright log with a flat end. After a few scratches and more glasswork to keep the pole from slipping out, she had a rudder. “You said something about steering, correct?”
* * *
Hungry eyes along the riverbanks marked their progress down the Faithful River. Melissa’s hungry eyes paid them no mind, as she cheerfully mastered the lazy art of tail fishing. She learned to distinguish the various grasses that clung to her spiny appendage, and soon had tasty garnishes for her hourly fish dinners. One occasion, when about to toss down another masterpiece, the raft scraped bottom and her tidbit slipped into the drink.
Shoroko lurched forward and grabbed a ridge on her back to keep from falling in.
“Why do you insist on steering so near the banks?” said Melissa. “Glass is brittle and I’m in no mood for a swim.”
“Have you noticed the hungry watchers along the banks?”
“Keep to the middle and they won’t get my fish.” She flicked her tail at the rudder.
Shoroko clenched the rudder as tightly as his teeth and glared. “Don’t you wonder why there aren’t hungry beasts in the river to avoid?”
Melissa pretended not to hear, as she’d speared another finned morsel on the spikes of her tail and was trying to subdue it without capsizing.
“I’ll tell you anyway. They were gobbled up by the River Lord. It keeps to the deeps. It could eat you for breakfast and be hungry by dinner.” Shoroko waved his free hand. “Get down.”
The tree limb approached swiftly, but the food obsessed olissair was midway between flaying and filleting. Smack. While Melissa howled inarticulately, Shoroko said, “Show the River Lord respect and it may show mercy.”
“If this River Lord is so tough, why’d you bring us this way? You’re just trying to scare me.”
“I’ll be safe because Lissai taste better, that’s why. Plus I know what to look for.”
“Such as?”
“Bubbles, floating grasses, and fish blood.”
Melissa raised her head and looked about. She saw plenty of bubbles and mattes of floating grass. Sniff, sniff. Ewww. I reek of fish blood. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why?”
“By the time you saw those signs, it would be too late. Good story. If there is such a creature, you must’ve seen it following its typical migration.”
“You sure you’re not White Talon?”
“Positive. I’m just a well-educated bird.”
Shoroko poled around some rocks. “I’ve been thinking about our problem. I don’t think knowing liosh caused you to act crazed will help.”
Melissa saw a mossy log behind two bubbles resembling eyes peering at her. She refused to flinch and grant Shoroko satisfaction. “Why not? When I explain it to both sides, they’ll realize it was an accident and Claws and Hands can go back to living in peace.” She glanced again. Log and bubbles were gone.
Shoroko watched the sun sink below the trees. “I don’t want to run the second rapids at night. Let’s camp here.” He worked the rudder. Fear bounded ashore and attacked the grass with abandon, while Shoroko lashed the raft to a tree.
After making camp, Shoroko said, “Where should I start? Hands could say it’s a convenient excuse to cover up Claw aggression.”
“I can demonstrate the effect. It is convincing.”
“Claws will question how liosh supplies in widely separated areas came to be tainted. They’ll claim the Hands did it.”
“But it’s Hands who’re suffering the most harm!” Melissa sharpened her talons on a stone to calm herself. This had anything but a calming effect on her traveling companions.
“Only if the Claws retain access to liosh.
Without it, their only source of flame is aliosha, a plant no longer common. You’ll lose your main source of strength in battle. Lissai pride themselves on their ethics: no murder, no eating animals except fish, and self-control in all matters.”
“I’ll identify the poison and find a way to remove it, or find a new, purer source.” All I need is a well-stocked pathology lab. No problem.
Shoroko paced back and forth, staring at Melissa at every turn. “Can’t be done. No one here has such a skill.”
“I’m not from here.” Please believe in me. Please.
“You were only a bird.”
“Yes, but a bird who worked with crafty men.”
He looked her straight in the eye and smiled. “I question your plan, but my biggest worry is that the Lissai won’t take advice from you when they learn you’re not one of them. I’m beginning to think you’re smarter and tougher than they are. We’re still heading for my sister’s, but maybe you are the one who can rescue us from this mess.”
Yes! Melissa yawned, walked in a tight circle, curled her tail and settled down for the night. All I have to do to win his heart is cure his sister, fix the food supply, prevent a war, stop the migration, get my body back and hop dimensions. How’s that for realistic expectations, Dr. Kozi?
Chapter 7: Flight across Clawtill Plains
Morning, April 4th, Clawtill Plains.
Shoroko recited and Melissa repeated the genealogies of the noble Lissai as they walked. “White Talon was hatched by Morianbranch, wise builder of the fifth canal, via Snowfeig. Morianbranch was hatched by Rivershim via Lisstarion, who bravely fell before the running thunder. Rivershim…” She missed the raft. The night brought rain, and the forest had opened into a grassy plain. Walking in the soft earth meant sinking into mud and drawing frequent laughter from Shoroko over her spills, slides and face-plants. To stifle his next guffaw, Melissa said, “How do you know so much about the Lissai? I’m lucky if I can remember a dozen leaders of my people.”
“Lissai history stretches back over four thousand years. Every day is a holiday ten times over. If you want to be polite when you meet a lissair, you need to know the proper greeting for each day, the name of his klatch, and three generations of his ancestors. If you meet an olissair, double it.”
A Most Refined Dragon Page 6
