A Most Refined Dragon

by Paul Chernoch

  Do you have another gift for me? After her earlier thought about how it was better to give, she felt embarrassed.

  I offer the same gift. You just have to learn how to use it.

  Melissa heard a tail thumping, knuckles rapping, drinks being slurped and knew she needed to speak. Gift. The seeds? As soon as she recalled her mystical sowing session, she felt a little pop. Then another. Pop. Pop, pop, pop. In her head she felt every seed check in. They had germinated and were sprouting – fast. They didn’t have eyes, but they could feel dirt and water and sun. Her sense of place shot out thousands of lisstai in every direction. She greeted them and listened to the whispers of orchids in the jungle, berries in the fields, saplings on the hills, and flowers in the mountain meadows, until she found the right one. It was about to bloom with a pale blue flower and a bulb that you could slit to get a potent, white sap. It was growing behind the shed at Jessnee’s house.

  A white flash blinded her. Melissa saw a vision of a man running up the street, holding a roll of paper in his hand and looking distraught. When it ended, Melissa spoke. “Jessnee, your family needs you. Go home.” She told him about the flower and how to prepare the tea.

  Mirrorwing stood on his haunches (nearly tearing the awning), extended his claws and flared his nostrils. He was too disciplined a lissair to contradict a ranking Claw in the presence of Hands. He flexed his arms and manipulated his claws to vent his frustration, but not in a meaningless fashion. He was signing his fury in siglissik, not knowing Melissa could understand. “You confused Hand-Claw mixture, didn’t I make it clear that we need this man, if not to help us, then to keep an eye on him so he does not oppose us?”

  Melissa signed back, “I am not the one who is confused. I have searched not only his heart, but mine. We need his skills, but he needs our compassion more. I will not alter my decision.”

  Before Mirrorwing could respond, a runner with a telegraph message knocked at the door. Jessnee tore the paper from his hands, unrolled it and sank to his knees. “My wife is dying.”

  “Go! R.J. can help with the machinery until you get back.”

  As he ran around cramming his stuff into a bag, Melissa thought, it is better to give than to receive.

  “Thank you, Melissa. I won’t forget.” Jessnee left.

  R.J. stared with big eyes. He scratched his head, but no words came.

  Mirrorwing snarled and sat again, before facing R.J. “Are you ready to tell us what you know?”

  R.J. smiled. “Jason is my oldest friend. If you treat me like Melissa treated him, I will tell you everything.”

  “Start with what you found at Red Home,” said Melissa.

  He pulled a digital camera out of his pocket. “It took three visits to their city to find what I needed. The Reds are major packrats, and they built everything. I snapped pictures of the schematics and repair manuals for the gateways, the hlisskanijunger, the irrigator, everything. I also found this.” He rummaged through his saddlebag, produced a gold, metal sphere twice the size of his fist and plunked it on the table. It had wires coming out if it and recessed holes with buttons made for claws. “The other parts we can build or repair, but in a thousand years we could never make one of these. It’s a computer, loaded with software for all the machines the Claws ever built. I tried it out; it works.”

  “Sweet,” said Melissa. “Where can we use it?”

  “The gateway in best repair sits underneath the Census Stone.”

  Melissa had another vision of a greater sea. Billions of birds, mammals, reptiles, and amphibians flooded the plains about the stone, growling, shrieking and roaring, while thousands of Claws and Hands directed traffic. “Nowhere on this planet is more watched than that spot. They’ll see us coming. How can we get in?”

  Chapter 29: Losing the Air

  A pril 19th. Rampart.

  As the migration proceeded, Melissa learned how each klatch contributed to the defense of the realm. The Reds herded land-based creatures from the Gap to the Bittersweet crossing, and from there, halfway to the Census Stone. On the return journey, they did the same in reverse. The swifter Greens managed the aquatic creatures and the sea birds from the east and south. The Browns herded everything entering Menagerie, and conducted the actual census. Today the battle was over Rampart, where the Whites fought for mastery of the western skies.

  Soorararas arrived the previous evening. He’d swung by Blaze asking for help from the Reds; the birds were flying farther south than usual, endangering the White hatcheries. The Reds sent ten clutches under the command of Lofty K'Fuur, but twenty were needed, so Soorararas came to Four Rivers to round up Whites there on business. He found four, including Olsurrodot and Melissa. She didn’t want to imperil her mission to the stone, but R.J. said it would be days before the gateway key was ready.

  Mirrorwing joined them to face the winged migration. “We need to generate goodwill, though I’m accustomed to shooing sea birds, so my contribution will be small.”

  The six Claws followed the course of the Faithful River south until they reached the White River, whose headwaters were near White Talon’s cave. They didn’t want to scatter birds the Whites had already steered onto the proper course, so they flew above fifteen thousand feet and taught Melissa how to drink from the clouds by gliding and curving her wings to collect mist and funnel it into her mouth. They could barely make out the river’s course, so dense was the avian mass below.

  While they flew, Melissa pondered R.J.’s revelations. He was like a football. The Chinese had him scrounging up materials to fix a way to return to Earth. He’d also sworn not to tell anyone he worked for the Greens, whose ancient detector told the rough location of anyone arriving on-planet via Nehenoth. They flew swiftest and it had been their job to intercept and quarantine immigrants ever since the holding pens’ portal broke. For ages, animals and humans had arrived infrequently, until Jessnee and then the Chinese came, which troubled them. The Greens concluded that some on Earth could communicate in both directions, come at will, but not return to Earth – yet. It was R.J.’s job to keep the Greens abreast of humanity’s capabilities; they feared invasion. To ensure the safety of his friends and all Hands on Kibota, he was to requisition certain machines and materials from Earth and deliver them to Hlissak Poonrapi at Seakeep. Melissa had asked, “Weapons?” and R.J. had replied, “No, waterproof paint for redecorating her cave, recording equipment and digital music players. Poonrapi is crazy about tunes. She wasn’t keen on electricity, so I also gave her a crank-operated record player and crates of vinyl. Ren Fa would’ve been suspicious if I’d asked for radar equipment or schematics for warheads, so I was relieved.”

  The Whites, reeling from White Talon’s downward spiral into depression, never took notice of R.J.’s activities, the Reds exiled him, and the Browns offered to cooperate in setting up two-way passage, on three conditions. First, share how to construct, repair and operate all mechanisms. Second, for every human from Earth who arrives, require that two Hands from Kibota migrate to Earth. And third, Hlissak Tongaroi personally warned R.J. to say only positive things about conditions on Earth when speaking with Hands, to encourage outward migration. It was Tongaroi who clued him in about the drawings at the Holding Pens.

  The Browns seem smartest when it comes to dealings with outsiders: reduce net immigration, engage constructively, obtain advanced technology. They are making a strong play for hlissosak.

  Adverse winds meant it was mid-afternoon before they reached the muster point at the Springs of Ramcanopa to receive their assignment. At the edge of the forest which Melissa scorched in her rage against Shoroko, sat Mistfire upon a couch. Every minute Whites and Reds landed, bathed in the hot springs, gave their reports, received new orders and departed.

  “Soorararas,” said Mistfire. Seeing Melissa, he corrected himself. “Cirrus the swift. You’ve assembled another clutch. Excellent.” He bowed to Olsurrodot. “With novice and experienced members, you’ll have a challenge. I’ll start you on columns. When
you judge your team ready, I’ll move you on to canopy. I have Reds on canyon duty, but when the great carrion arrive, you will join them there.”

  “Are we following the rivers or the lakes route?” asked Soorararas.

  “Lakes. The flocks are too far south for rivers. Troublesome. It spreads us thinner.” Mistfire looked to the back of their group and blinked his eyes. “Can it be? I thought it a trick of the light. Mirrorwing! Come up!”

  The Claws parted and the Silver stepped forward. “Hlissak already? And not yet two hundred years?” said Mirrorwing. “I must still be in Nehenoth. Good thing all my possessions were lost, or I’d have to make good on our wager.”

  “Your service today will repay everything,” said Mistfire. The two locked claws and butted heads. “I have this one to thank for my position.” He turned to Melissa. “But your authority to grant it has come into question.”

  “I informed White Talon of my decision,” said Melissa. “She did not object and even acknowledged its wisdom.”

  Mistfire tasted the air with his tongue. “I have three reasons to be suspicious. If you were unaware of our customs and controversies, you had no place making such decisions. If you were familiar with our ways, then you deceived us by claiming ignorance and came here with a purpose. Given reports of your abilities, you have the power to accomplish what you desire without cooperation from us. We cherish community. Why should we include you in ours?”

  They don’t waste time. What do I say? Hey, I’m the Rainbow Bride, so the man upstairs put me in charge. Move aside! She breathed deeply. “I remain alive by the grace of Hands and Claws, so it is they whom I serve. My wings fly fastest; tell me where to go. My arms are strongest, tell me what to hold. My breath heals deepest, tell me who is weak. My eyes look farthest, tell me what you seek.”

  Mistfire stood erect and exhaled fire. “You think reciting the Rime of the Rainbow will convince me to trust you? I don’t know the source of your knowledge, but I expect deeds and not a glissond’s school recitation!”

  No fair! I thought I was making that up. Another random memory from White Talon is getting me in trouble. Melissa contemplated throwing herself on the ground and pleading for mercy. No, something else. “I entered this world friendless. My only companions are those whom I have helped by my deeds. I am here to add to them. If you question the authority I act under…”

  “I would never question the authority of strange spirits that arrive without a proper introduction.”

  “My only authority is the compassion I have for the Claws and Hands I meet, and the effort I expend helping them. I willingly submit to any other authorities that share my concerns.” Melissa bowed her head. “Even those appointed by me.”

  A shadow circled and Lofty K'Fuur landed. He wore a helmet and goggles on his head. (You never know what will spit poison at you.) A metal flask was strapped to his left upper arm.

  Meanwhile, Mistfire grinned, held his right paw aloft and swung his head from side to side, making eye contact with his subjects. “A submissive subversive! Surely the best kind to employ in defending our home.”

  K'Fuur walked over to Melissa and bowed. “Melidessa is twice the size of the other ollhatchi, and exceeds them in precociousness. Thank you again for blessing my home.” He turned to Mistfire. “Lofty K'Fuur, reporting for duty.”

  Mistfire released a puff of smoke and shrugged. “Instruct Cirrus’ clutch in how to run columns, then proceed to White Canyon. Today will test us all.” He dismissed them.

  Melissa was stunned, but not by the strategy, which was simple. Running columns meant stacking Lissai six high, with two near the ground and the rest separated each from the one below by fifty lisstai, flying east along the north or south edge of the flocks to keep them from scattering. Flying canopy meant chasing birds out of the trees and fields and keeping them airborne. Canyons was the most dangerous; that’s where rukhs, dactylaries, other large birds and winged saurians lay in wait for prey and hunted for Lissai olli. What stunned Melissa was the scale. Teams running columns completed a circuit and returned to base every six hours. Two new columns left every half a minute, one to the north, and one to the south. She did the math: over ten thousand Lissai were running columns.

  Their turn approached. Olsurrodot handed her a bright ribbon with all the colors of the rainbow. Melissa took the ribbon and examined it. Unrolled, it must be a hundred yards long. Over the flocks’ din she shouted, “What do I do with this?”

  Olsurrodot yelled back, “Tie it to your tail.”

  You’re kidding, right? “This isn’t another secret Lissai mating ritual, is it?”

  “Skill with ribbon is considered highly attractive, but practical as well. It scares the birds.”

  “Flames scare birds, too.” Highly attractive? I am never going to figure these dragons out. Of course my high school friends thought body piercings were attractive.

  “Try shooting streams of fire a dozen lisstai in length all day long.”

  “Streamers it is.” She tied the ribbon to her tail. “How do I keep from tangling myself in a tree?”

  “Now do you understand why skill with ribbon is so attractive?”

  Olsurrodot’s grin had her convinced this was a hazing ritual, until she saw the other Lissai follow suit. The lissairn preferred turquoise, maroon or forest green, while the olissairn chose gold, purple and orange. “No pink?” said Melissa.

  “Pink is what female Hands prefer,” said Olsurrodot. “No respectable olissairn wants to look like that.”

  “They like perfume well enough.”

  “A recent trend. Two migrata ago, only a handful of Browns used perfume. Browns are the most fashion conscious.”

  The clutch before them took off. Melissa watched them flip their tails about rhythmically, mesmerized. They traced great circles and swirls and zees across the sky, and the birds took notice. When they vanished into the distance, it was her turn. Her position was third from the ground. She ran and launched herself into the sky and was relieved when her tail accessory didn’t catch in a tree. At first, she tried a simple up-down motion with her tail, then a corkscrew, then she lost herself in barrel rolls and loop-the-loops. She watched for birds trying to breach the cordon and dove or climbed and veered in and out to round them up again. When Olsurrodot’s ribbon flatlined as he forgot his own maneuvers to gawk at hers, she knew she was doing it right.

  When minutes turned into hours, the rest of her clutch displayed fatigue. Their tails lost their zing, but not Melissa. She remembered being entranced as a child by the ribbon dancers at the Chinese New Years Parade. One dancer walked along the edge of the crowd handing streamers to the children. She snatched a red one with delight and waved it in ecstasy. It was because she was lost in her dance that she wandered into the path of the dragon and was knocked down. Now she was both dancer and dragon and flew with abandon, sucking water from the misty air and rotating with the bottom flyer so she could snatch branches from the treetops to chew on.

  After the doctors set her arm in a cast, Melissa had resolved to become a doctor, so she could save other people from dragons. Now she was trying to save the dragons. But unlike a scared but trusting girl at the Floating Hospital, some of her patients were refusing their medicine.

  After White Talon’s departure, her cave became a barracks, so at shift’s end Melissa settled there to keep dry. She curled up in the observatory with Mirrorwing, beside the great orb. He looked exhausted, but smelled of contentment, face relaxed and tail wagging like a puppy. “Today’s work was agreeable with you.”

  “I found old friends and feel less alone,” said Mirrorwing.

  “Good for you. The old friends I run into on Kibota cause me trouble, so enjoy your happiness while it lasts.”

  “Your time here has been one clutch-wing after another,” said Mirrorwing.

  “Clutch-wing?” said Melissa. “I heard that word at Anspark’s. Elek-Mouton kicked a Claw out of the cave to make the count thirteen. Are Claws superstitious?�
��

  “No, just orderly. A clutch of six Claws is for war, conflict, and destruction. A wing of seven Claws is for peace, farming, and celebration. We travel in multiples of six or seven to signify our intentions. When it is time to make a judgment, to decide on war or peace, we form a clutch-wing by adding or multiplying, making thirteen or forty-two.”

  “Like at my trial, or R.J.’s sentencing.”

  “Correct.”

  “Yeah. My life is nothing but a clutch-wing.”

  As Melissa drifted off to sleep, the depths of the orb flickered. The glow shimmered and grew, and showed a ramshackle shed with a corrugated metal roof. People were hiding in the shed. Before she could see whom, she was asleep, and she was there.

  * * *

  Shoroko looked through Dr. Kozi’s eyes at Melissa’s fluttering eyelids. “Where have you been?” He was sitting on a cheap plastic chair with metal legs, and she was stretched out on a bare mattress, still wearing the burkha, but with the hood pulled back to reveal her face. Four Sudanese rebels clutching rifles knelt before curtained windows on three sides of the equipment shed. Metal tubes, plumbing fixtures and boxes of rusty tools lay strewn about.

  Melissa sat up. “Herding birds.”

  “Thought so,” said Shoroko. “I passed by as I headed south. When I saw the rainbow ribbon sail by, I knew it was you. After seeing you dance in the sky, I can’t wait to dance with you on the ground.”

  “Is this real? Are we really here?”

  Shoroko reached out his hand and helped her stand. “Yes. I spoke with our rescuers. During the hours I was awake in Kibota, this body slept. It has done nothing I do not remember since I first arrived. I think Dr. Kozi died. When you tried to heal him, you brought me here instead. You described how you sometimes sense White Talon’s presence. When it comes to Kozi, I feel nothing. There is no one but me to call this body home. Now I have two bodies to take care of, and no rest.”