Melissa drank the processed liosh. “My mouth usually starts tingling after a few seconds. I feel nothing.”
Thedarra returned for the pitcher containing the tainted distillate. Again, Zocrita stopped her.
“I have more questions for White Talon,” said Zocrita. “Once she drinks this…” She tapped on the pitcher. “Getting answers will be… difficult.”
Thedarra put down the liosh and returned to her seat.
Zocrita straightened her robe, pulled her hair back, and folded her hands in front. “In a few minutes, we shall know definitively whether White Talon was poisoned. We still do not know what that…”
Shoroko cleared his throat.
“Juror Shoroko, have you a question?” said Zocrita.
He shook his head.
“Do you know what the poison is?”
Shoroko looked down. If it could have helped, Olsurrodot would have told us already.
“Do you believe someone here does know?”
They locked eyes and Shoroko relented. “Ask Olsurrodot.”
The aged lissair bowed before the jurors. “What does the court wish to know?”
“Do you know the poison added to the liosh?” asked Zocrita.
Olsurrodot stood tall. “White Talon healed me by her flame. Since that day, not only my eyes, but my ears and nose are keener as well. I sniffed the slides. I know the poison.”
“What is it?”
“It is common.”
“What is its name?”
“Anyone on Kibota has ready access to this substance, but it is possible in these dangerous times for it to accidentally flow into a liosh seep. Does this not answer most of your questions?” Olsurrodot’s words were for Zocrita, but his eyes were on Lofty K'Fuur, and they were pleading.
“You are employed in defending the accused,” said Zocrita. “Withholding this information could lead to a charge of conspiracy.” She turned to the jurors. “What do you say?”
Shoroko turned to look at Melissa, who stood behind the jurors, bound. Her face showed as much perplexity as everyone else’s. She doesn’t know what the poison is either.
“I will tell Lofty K'Fuur,” said Olsurrodot. “No one else. He must swear not to reveal it to any but a hlissak.”
Zocrita slapped her hand against her thigh. “Unacceptable!”
Lofty K'Fuur stood. “If this is a matter subject to the treaties, you WILL accept it. I will hear Olsurrodot privately and make my ruling.” The two lissairn walked behind the stand of trees and stood along the water’s edge. They debated at length. When they returned, K'Fuur took his seat. “I, Lofty K'Fuur, claim that to preserve the security of the Lissai, the identity of the poison must not be divulged. Olsurrodot is bound to not speak any more of this matter, except to a hlissak.”
Shouting erupted all over. “It’s a conspiracy! The Claws are going to kill us!”
“What’s to stop them from poisoning us next?”
“They’ll never let their own go to jail! The experiment was rigged!”
They restored order as the sun struck the horizon. Shoroko looked at Melissa. You will never be free, will you? As he finished that thought, he knew what he really meant. We will never be free.
* * *
After the rioters were expelled from the island, the jurors gathered around Melissa. She stood tall, breathed slowly and looked them straight in the eye. It’s gone political. Will this be a show trial, now? Will the Claws sacrifice me so they can keep the poison a secret? As a weapon, it would turn them into unreasoning savages. They won’t be able to execute complex strategies and defend against the migration. They might even pick fights with hlisskans and get destroyed. Or will K'Fuur back me up and incite civil war against the Hands? I’m disqualified to be hlissosak, so by supporting me, the Reds might win over the Whites as allies and assure Anspark the prize.
“Before White Talon drinks the poison,” said Zocrita, “I will interpret her Embraniss. I need her true reaction as I conduct my reading.” She carried the relief in colored glass over and mounted it on an easel. “Our minds are muddled, our words conceal and deceive…” She stroked its surface. “… but our hands cannot hide, because our hearts are bound to them too tightly. Before the Octojurata, seven jurors will cast votes with their tongues, but one has already voted in glass. Hear now the testimony of White Talon.”
Zocrita tapped the glass. “The subjects.” She slid her index finger from one face to another, pausing at each. “Shorassa. Shoroko. Ecraveo. Her parents. Her friends.” Shorassa filled the foreground, pointing to the sky with her right hand, beaming. On her left stood Ecraveo, holding her left hand. On her right stood her brothers, and behind them, her parents and friends. Far into the background, between Ecraveo and Shorassa, stood another woman, apart. “Shorassa is drawn with bright colors. Beauty, grace and confidence infuse this representation. White Talon respects and admires her. I know Shorassa’s style, and this piece gives homage to it, and not to White Talon’s own famed technique. I have heard whispers that she was jealous of her friend’s ability.” Zocrita stared straight at Melissa, waiting for a reaction. Seeing none, she faced the jurors again. “But I see nothing in her art to confirm this. I am puzzled, though. Where is White Talon?” She faced Melissa again. “Why did you not draw yourself in this picture? Does a guilty conscience separate you so far from the dead that you cannot appear in the same sculpture with her?”
Melissa wiggled her tongue back and forth inside her mouth. This isn’t a show, and it isn’t palm reading. Judicartistry is real, and Zocrita knows what she is doing. She weighed her words. “I am present in all my works.”
Zocrita put her finger on her chin. She looked like she was about to challenge Melissa’s answer, then walked back to the glass relief, leaned over and lost herself in the whorls of color, the stripes and bubbles and textures of the glass, and the expression on every face. She pointed at one figure, the girl whose face appeared in the background between Shorassa and Ecraveo. That girl had long, straight black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a face neither happy nor sad, a face aloof. “Who is this girl?”
Melissa stared back. She didn’t answer.
“She is you? You pictured yourself as a Hand, and not a Claw. Why? Did you envy her very essence, her species? Or perhaps…” Zocrita scanned the audience. “Soorararas, come forward.”
The White Lissai walked forward. “Yes, inquisitor?”
“You flew with White Talon on her trips to Agotaras Springs. Did she discuss Shorassa’s then imminent wedding to Ecraveo?”
“Whenever I broached the subject of what gift she was preparing for the wedding, she changed the subject. Then she would get that look.”
“Which look?”
“The look she gets whenever she hears his name.”
“Whose name is that?”
Soorararas knelt, bowed his head low, and closed his eyes. “Silverthorn.”
“You may rise,” said Zocrita. “I have no further questions. Thedarra, you may administer the poison.”
Thedarra walked to the table, retrieved the pitcher, and carried it to the bound olissair. Glug, glug. Thedarra retreated, briskly.
While the tingling spread throughout her body, Melissa pondered why nobody during the trial had broached the matter of the Rainbow Bride. If she was the hoped-for savior of the Claws with special powers to help solve the world’s ills, surely they would rally round her?
Snap. The first rope gave way.
Would that lighten her punishment? Make the Hands less inclined to seek the death penalty?
Clink. A chain snapped.
Of course, the Reds didn’t believe her, and a Red sat on the Octojurata, not a White. They didn’t believe her because though she might have manifested six of the seven signs, the only one they cared about was absent.
Thwip, snip, snip, wallop. Four more ropes snapped.
Stupid Reds. Shows what they know.
Creak. Creak. Crack.
“Run!” cried some f
ool.
A six-lisstai-high tree swayed, snapped, and crashed down, narrowly missing the crowd and pinning a few Hands under its limbs.
Clink. Another chain snapped.
Rip. Another ancient tree toppled after being pulled up by its roots.
Is this enough Rainbow action for you?
Melissa gnawed at her remaining bonds and bit through them. She was free. K'Fuur stood in her path. She charged him, lowered her head, and butted his. She ran over his unconscious body. First stop: the food tables. By the time she finished devouring whatever scraps survived the crowd’s appetite, ten Lissai surrounded her. She gulped down air, balanced on one foot and spun around, spraying flame in every direction. When the Claws could see again, she was aloft. With her keen sight she located her target boarding a ferry. She flapped her wings furiously, gained height, and brought her wings in close for a dive. With talons extended, she swooped over the water and snatched her prey: Thedarra. Up, up, up she flew, until the people below were specks. Her rival was at her mercy, and she had none.
One of the specks down below was Shoroko. Seeing him, Melissa almost forgot her brassy baggage. She circled and slowly descended. I won’t drop her. More fun to bite her throat. Then I can share her flesh with my love. From half a lissta up she dropped Thedarra, who landed on a tuft of grass, unconscious. Then Melissa landed. She had breathed blue flame onto him once. Now he could talk to her. He could talk to all kinds of creatures. She would give him greater gifts! He would adore her.
There are all kinds of languages in this world, but some do not use words. Shoroko was privy to them all. An ancient proverb spoke of a mystery:
There are three things that are too amazing for me,
Four that I do not understand:
The way of an eagle in the sky,
The way of a snake on a rock,
The way of a ship on the high seas,
And the way of a man with a maiden.
Melissa could fly like an eagle, slither like a snake, had constructed the raft they’d plied the river by, and was the very model of a maiden most mysterious, a four-fold enigma. Yet Shoroko stood before Melissa’s wrath, looked upon her with sadness, and said soundlessly the word to break her spell.
She kneeled, wept, and waited for new chains to be fastened upon her. Smoky tendrils from the last embers under the refining apparatus drifted past, their cursive whorls spelling out a new indictment. “Those flames burned the poison out of the liosh.” Melissa turned and saw Thedarra, but Callyglip moved to stand between them, arms crossed, stern. “I can refine what goes into me, but do you have a machine that can refine what comes out?” The eyes watching her were on fire, but none hotter than the forge of remorse that burned within.
* * *
The close of the trial unfolded in the dark, without crowds. Fallen trees were towed aside, furniture set up again, torches lit and the Octojurata reconvened, augmented only by a few guards and the defense team.
Zocrita addressed them. “Yes, the liosh was poisoned. Yes, we can purify it. In building his refinery, Jessnee has rendered a service that will benefit all of us, Hand and Claw. Yes, White Talon attacked Shorassa while unbalanced as a result of drinking such tainted liosh. Yet consider the words of Lord Silverthorn: ‘It’s not what goes into the snout that defiles a lissair, but what comes out.’ We know from Soorararas’ testimony that she, on at least one prior occasion, sought out the intoxicating substance to make her feel powerful, creative, and less empty. Combine this lapse in judgment with her jealousy over Shorassa’s upcoming wedding while she still mourned the loss of Silverthorn, and what do we have? We have a Claw who willfully surrendered her sobriety and walked into a room with a Hand against whom she harbored a growing malice. What do we have? An accident? No, we have a murder, and before us, the murderer.”
Melissa was numb, and would have stayed numb, except for one thing. White Talon. She could have told me. I was so convinced of her innocence! My plan would have set us both free. If I had only known…
Callyglip sat tending to Thedarra, who still shook from her ordeal. Melissa stared at the woman. Three times I almost killed you, only two of them after drinking liosh. White Talon may have hidden her jealousy, but it was mine that did this. I know what I have to do. “Zocrita, save your speech. I am ready to confess.”
Zocrita shook her head in disbelief.
“But first, I need to speak with my counsel.” Melissa waited while Vedarran approached. “What will the punishment be?”
He bowed his head. “For this, I foresee only death.”
“What about exile?”
He looked up and pointed to her claws and wings. “We know you are strong. No one could stop you if you flew away, and none would follow. 'Twould be a lonely existence, though.”
Melissa thought that by willingly going to trial, she could avert war and save her life. If she fled into exile, she would live, but the Hands’ thirst for justice would lead to war. If she pleaded guilty and was executed, there would be peace. If she took her chances with the court’s verdict, nothing was certain; the Octojurata could fall into a schism. She looked at Shoroko. He could see the anguish on her face. Would he reveal her secret in a desperate attempt to rescue her? That would expose both of them to charges of perjury, and have untold other bad consequences. Her head was empty of ideas. Her belly was empty of food. She had burned all her liosh, and was burning her bridges as well. She remembered what the voice said about emptiness. That didn’t help!
Just then White Talon impinged upon her consciousness. If it is to be death, then it shall be death. The crime was mine, so I must be the one who receives the punishment.
Melissa replied. I tried. I did everything I could. I’m sorry. I failed.
White Talon disagreed. You accomplished far more than I with my sixty migrata of wisdom could have. I’ve enough sense of what has been going on to know who you are. As she lay dying, Shorassa told me the Rainbow Bride was on her way, and would save our world. She was speaking of you. You must not die! We change places now! You journeyed to this world once. You will find another way, I am certain. Kibota needs you; White Talon has lived long enough.
Melissa prepared to argue, but lacked the logic to persuade even herself. You sacrifice your life, White Talon. I sacrifice my love, and that is almost as bitter. Tell Shoroko I will love him forever. Tell Thedarra I am sorry, and beg her to forgive me. I was wrong.
The next thing Melissa knew, she was lying in a cot, with her hands chained to a pole. She was in a tent, her head was bandaged, and she had no wings.
* * *
Shoroko watched as Melissa stared at Thedarra. He knew her every thought, her jealousy and her remorse. He saw the chains outside, and the ones within. And suddenly, he didn’t see her at all.
White Talon turned and looked him in the eye. “I am sorry, and now we all are lost.”
Zocrita looked back and forth between them. “What do you mean, ‘we all are lost’?”
White Talon stood tall, with a regal look Melissa had never mastered. “I am White Talon. I murdered Shorassa. I deserve to be punished. But if the punishment is merely death, you must release me, for that debt has already been paid.”
Zocrita sputtered her way toward a response, but never got there.
“Silence!” said Orokolga. “Explain yourself, White Talon.”
“Yes, I am White Talon. But the one who stood trial before you up until now was not me. I was elsewhere. Now I have returned. None but I should pay the penalty for my error.”
“Elsewhere? You stand before us in chains. How could one olissair change places with another and we not notice?”
“White Talon speaks the truth,” said Soorararas.
“I agree,” said K'Pinkelek.
“And so do I,” said Shoroko. “I was there when it happened.” He proceeded to describe their struggle in the cave, and the signs that persuaded him White Talon’s spirit had been exchanged with that of a woman. “Since Melissa Long appeared, she h
as manifested all seven of the Rainbow signs. Kibota needs her, but now justice demands that we sacrifice the vessel that permits her to visit us! She can save the lives of thousands. Do we reject this gift? She entered a world not her own, fought to save the life of a person she never knew, and has tried to find a way to stop civil war from turning Hands against Claws. All without knowing our laws and customs, geography, biology, history or anything else. Isn’t there anything we can do?”
Skandik looked about, to puzzle out what others were thinking. He looked to Metookonsen for direction but saw nothing. He scowled, looked up at the moon, stood and spoke. “White Talon confessed, she is guilty, the penalty is death.” He sat down.
Ecraveo nodded. “Death.”
Makri shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, Shoroko. The law’s the law. Death.”
Metookonsen remained expressionless. “Death.”
Lofty K'Fuur squinted to find a difference between this White Talon and the one who had been on display all day. “White Talon shows remorse, cooperated fully, and did not intend to kill. Our laws permit exile. I vote for exile.”
All eyes watched Orokolga. Under the moon’s golden rays, her hide shone bright. After long silence, she said, “I was summoned by one desiring justice. Now it is I who summon wisdom.” She walked to the water’s edge and began a slow circuit of the island, dragging her tail in the water, sending ripples outward. When she returned, she declared, “I sent the ripples out. When they return, you will have your answer.”
The Octojurata sat in silence all that night, until the sun rose.
Zocrita, stiff from sitting and damp with dew, stood and addressed Orokolga. “Do you have an answer for us?”
“Better,” said the golden dragon. “I have a question.”
Chapter 22: Death
April 13th. Morning. Market Isle at Four Rivers.
The clouds were streaked with the orange of a new day, but the omens Shoroko hoped to find in their amorphous scrawl were not there. Fishermen plying the river cast their nets out of earshot, their gaze fixed upon the collection of Hands and Claws standing on the grass in a semicircle about the Golden Dragon. Runners sat on the docks, waiting for a verdict to proclaim, while out in the waste, millions of creatures that cared nothing about courts and trials were on the march.
A Most Refined Dragon Page 22
