A Most Refined Dragon Read online

  He gripped his weapon tighter. She’s deadly even when she doesn’t know I’m here. What now?

  The olissair began to circle the globe. Kkkhhhhh! “Where?” Khhhhhhh! “Where?” A new spot on the orb scintillated with each blast.

  White Talon was hlissak over Rampart province because of her reputed skill at seeing. Shoroko questioned that reputation: she had her back to him. He tensed his muscles and bent his knees.

  “Silverthorn, come back! Kibota needs you! I need you!” She blasted the crystal again. Then she stepped forward, grasped the orb between her fore claws and put her snout up to it.

  Shoroko charged, leaped onto White Talon’s tail and ran up her back. When she made no move to defend herself, he froze. The rapid evaporation of dragon-spit from the divination apparatus disclosed something that was making her stare, blunting her sense of self-preservation. She remained still while the sphere grew wondrously clear and a tiny, silver speck appeared. Shoroko reached high and brought his klafe down hard upon the skull of the stunned olissair.

  Bone split, blood spattered, and the eyes of the wounded mistress of the missing hlissosak flew open. “Silverthorn…”

  Shoroko withdrew his blade and prepared to strike again. Then he saw the silver speck, too. From the heart of the orb a shining creature glided ever closer, steadily enlarging with wings spread wide to catch the sun. White Talon collapsed. Shoroko lost his footing and landed hard on the floor. The carcass of his foe toppled onto him, driving sharp spines into his chest. He spit out blood, then wriggled free. He lived, but in him was the same poison that left his beloved Sho-Sho in perpetual sleep. He didn’t care. He had struck a blow for the Hands, and avenged his sister. Then he passed out.

  * * *

  Melissa had a splitting headache. I was shot in the chest. What’s wrong with my head? She opened her eyes, but everything was dark. She tried to stand up, but ended up lurching and falling over. Nothing felt right. She brought her hand to her head to feel for blood. Ow! Need to trim my nails. She succeeded in righting herself by balancing on her knuckles.

  “Oooooooh.” A man to her right moaned.

  Was it Kozi? Or the pilot? That would be bad. Melissa blinked her eyes again and was rewarded by a dim blur. She stood and whacked her head into something smooth. Her vision cleared. A glassy object hung in front of her face. She stepped back and saw her distorted reflection. Pale as a ghost? That she expected. Long rows of teeth, prominent snout, white mane and scales? Unexpected.

  Melissa had told Dr. Kozi about her fear of dragons. Considering her general unwillingness to accept impossibilities, her clever mind would have proposed the possibility that her colleague played a trick on her, but the moaning man was now a knife-wielding one. He limped forward, stopped, breathed heavily, tensed his knife arm, rocked back on his heels, and leaped.

  “Sssshhrrraaannnggghh!” Now her chest hurt. She batted the man aside with her right claw. He fell to the floor, hand still grasping his klafe. Blood started to pour from her chest, but her heart still beat strong. He missed my vitals.

  Shoroko kicked wildly and slid backwards until he reached the wall, then used it to stand again. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and took an unsteady step forward.

  Melissa panted, spitting blood, waiting for the next attack. Why are we fighting? Where am I? Were my grandparents right about reincarnation? She was a monster, that much she understood. But she was also a woman used to reasoning her way out of problems. Not easy when you can’t talk to them. Or could she? She cleared her throat and spit out more blood.

  Shoroko stepped sideways to avoid an expected torrent of flame. His tattered skins would protect him no more.

  “Why?” That’s what Melissa said in her head, but it’s not what came out of her mouth. So much for negotiating.

  “Why? Why? My sister is why! One swipe from your claw sent her into the sleep that leads to death! If I had the strength to float down river I could kiss Sho-Sho one last time before we both enter Nehenoth forever. But instead, I’ll settle for kissing you with my klafe.” He stepped forward, hunched down, blade in hand.

  Revenge? Good reason. What am I thinking? Help! Calling all aliens! Any brother lizards around to save me? Or will this man believe me if I tell him he has the wrong monster? Oh please, oh please help him see… Melissa shook her head in surprise. That wasn’t English or Chinese. How did he understand me? How did I understand him? She spoke out loud. “Who am I?”

  Shoroko spat at the ground. “Feigning amnesia? Have I reduced the great White Talon to this? I worried for nothing, hlissak. You deserve your reputation for craftiness even less than your renown for prowess in battle.”

  That would be the battle whose beginning she missed. Her head throbbed and her body reminded her of one thing. “You attacked me from behind! Some valor you showed.”

  “So you do remember! You Lissai are such bad liars!”

  Insufferable. If that’s what people were like here, she could understand why this White Talon creature would want to stomp them. But while Melissa tried to separate her emotions from those of the previous soul to occupy her new body and master her new skeletal structure, Shoroko charged, and a normally useful reflex took over: she breathed.

  * * *

  Shoroko stopped in mid charge, closed his eyes, and raised his arm to protect his face. Torrents of blue flame exploded from the olissair’s mouth and bathed him. Thud. He opened his eyes, lowered his arm, and stared. The one he knew as White Talon was down. Small tongues of blue flame squirted out with each unconscious breath, dwindling until they were no more.

  He raised his knife arm, stepped forward and froze. Inside his head, a voice shouted, and he recalled his sister’s last words to him before he left. Fetch me a doctor!

  * * *

  When she awoke, Melissa kept her eyes shut. What will I be this time? This universe is weird. Got to be ready to come out fighting. Blink. Nope, still a dragon. She turned her head.

  “No sudden moves.”

  She followed the sound of the voice. Dragon slayer again? What did I do to deserve this? Instead of a knife, he now held a bow.

  “I’m the best shot in Rampart, and I painted a circle on your chest. Start talking.”

  “Why am I still alive?”

  “That’s my question to ask.”

  “Then, what’s your name? I’d like to know who’s ending my brief life.”

  “Shoroko. You really don’t remember?”

  “Head trauma. Your knife – my brain. Remember?” Melissa looked him over. No burns. In fact, no wounds, cuts, lacerations, bruises, sprains or broken bones. “Your gods have blessed you. Looks like you’ll live long enough to see your sister. Now let me die, brave warrior, so I can go on to a better place. I don’t like this one.”

  “Gods? Until you started hunting us down, the only gods we turned to for help were you Lissai. You blasted me with blue flame, not orange. Why?”

  “Forgive me for panicking, but YOU WERE ABOUT TO KNIFE ME AGAIN!” Cough, cough. “Why’s the color matter, anyway?”

  “White flame’s for cooking, orange is for battle, yellow for metallurgy and glass blowing. Green is for…” He blushed. “Lissai never breathe blue flame. At least not that you’ve told us.”

  Melissa studied his wavy black hair and dark skin. Then she met his gaze. The anger in his green eyes faded, and hope arose. “You believe I can heal your sister?”

  “Maybe you are wise. Yes. You will try, or I will kill you.”

  “And if she’s dead before we reach her?” Melissa flopped about. “My right wing’s damaged.”

  Shoroko opened his mouth to blurt out an impulsive answer, but then a twinkle filled his eye. “You will serve my people until your debt is repaid.”

  She guessed how long that would be. “I’ll serve you, if you’ll help me do one thing.”

  He pulled his bowstring.

  “Something that will help both our peoples and make you a hero.”

  He relaxed hi
s grip.

  “Find the reason we are at war and a way to end it.”

  He lowered his bow. “You really don’t remember.”

  “I’m asking the impossible?”

  “Kibota is the Claws’ world. We came; you let us stay. Our numbers are growing and yours are not, so you want us gone. It’s Claws versus Hands until only one is left.”

  “Is this opinion universal?”

  “No. Until this year Rampart Klatch stood for us and Blaze Klatch against us, while Seakeep and Menagerie refused to declare openly. But your unprovoked attack changed all that. Only the impending census postpones war from breaking out.”

  “I will order the…” She stumbled over the word and gave Shoroko a puzzled look.

  “Lissai?”

  “Thanks. Order the Lissai under my authority to cease hostilities until we negotiate a new arrangement.”

  “Without your memory? Ceremonies and ancient protocols govern everything. You will be deposed as Hlissak of Rampart as soon as this is discovered.”

  “Then we had better not let them find out.” An image of silver passed through her mind. “What does the color silver mean to me?”

  Shoroko’s eyes revealed a new emotion. “For Hands, silver meant peace. For Claws, it meant vision and unity. For you? Love.”

  She recalled his name. “Silverthorn? What happened to him?”

  “Your beloved, the Hlissak of Garden Isle and Hlissosak over all the Lissai, departed. He took all the Silvers into Nehenoth seven years ago to find a way to end the frequent devastations that ruin our lands. They are lost. After this year’s census, a new Hlissosak will be chosen. If your people choose as expected, the Lissai will also be appointing a general. Then we will have war.”

  “What if Silverthorn’s task were accomplished by another? If this devastation were prevented? Would that change things?”

  “That would be a start. But how is a brainless dragon going to do that in one month?”

  “One month?” Melissa discovered the utility of her mighty tail and slapped it against the floor. “Why only one month?”

  “The devastation is as regular as the path of the moon. Let’s hope it’s mild like last time. Only an eighth of my people died seven years ago.”

  “What kind of devastation? Earthquake? Drought? Disease?”

  “We pray for drought. Earthquakes would be bad for the Claws because you live in caves, but we don’t care. No, we fear the migration.”

  “Migration? Of what?”

  “Of everything.”

  From the way this fellow is armed, these people must be primitive. I can easily scare a herd of buffalo once I’m healed. “If I have to stand in front of a stampede to stop it, I will.”

  He chuckled. “At least you haven’t lost your bravery. You already do that, along with thousands of other olissairn and lissairn. Otherwise, it would be much worse.”

  “Olissairn?”

  “Lady dragons, like you.”

  She cocked her head. He said that word again. In English. “You said ‘dragon’. How do you know that word?”

  “My friend Jessnee taught it to me.” He scratched his head. “Sorry. It’s not a polite way to refer to your kind.”

  “Does Jessnee use other words that are strange?”

  “Lots. He’s smart.” He looked down. “But not smart enough to heal my sister.”

  “I want to meet him. So the wisest of my kind think the solution lies in Nehenoth. Where is that?”

  “Ne-he-no-th. Neither here nor there.”

  She snorted a puff of orange flame. He backed up. “Oops. My mistake.”

  “Your orb lets you see into Nehenoth. I think you’d just located Silverthorn as I sank my knife into your skull.”

  “You saw him? What did he look like?”

  “Long, wings spread wide but rounder than I’d expect. No Claws visible. But unmistakably silver.”

  My plane! White Talon mistook my plane for her lover! Melissa lowered her head to the floor. The idea that God or some benevolent force in the universe had swapped her soul for this dragon’s because of a cosmic plan that would make her a hero and save the day suddenly crumbled. A dying, lovesick olissair had thrust her soul into the void to follow her betrothed, and a loveless, American M.D. got sucked into the spiritual maelstrom by chance. “Send me back.”

  She spoke the words so quietly that Shoroko had to kneel to hear. “What?”

  “Send me to Nehenoth.”

  He reached out and stroked the tuft of white hair on her head. “We have a deal. You can’t save the world, but you can save my sister. Then I’ll let you go.” He put his shoulder under her arm and thrust his legs up. “I don’t do magic. We need to get you to your pool so I can clean your wounds.”

  She struggled to her knees. “Why are you being nice to me now? I hurt your sister, even if I don’t remember doing it.”

  “You could have killed me, but did the opposite. Maybe you’re not a dragon. Maybe you realize you made a mistake. Maybe if we attempt the impossible we’ll accomplish the possible and find a different way to keep our world from war. But mostly, I don’t want to give you a reason to fly away. If I get Sho-Sho back, the rest doesn’t matter.”

  The trek to the pool cost an hour, and a lot of blood. When she finally slid into the pool, her mind went hazy. Why can’t I breathe blue flame on myself? She propped her head on a stone so she wouldn’t drown. The last thing she saw before she passed out was Shoroko’s face. Now that she wasn’t studying it for signs he was about to make a killing strike, she decided it was a pleasant face. A familiar face.

  It was the face she’d drawn on her notebook computer. She’d met the man of her dreams, and he tried to kill her.

  Chapter 4: Delegation

  Morning, April 2nd, Talon Mountains, Rampart.

  Gnash, slurp, belch. “I could devour these all day,” said Melissa. “What did you call them?”

  “Homzhash.” Shoroko tossed another scroll on the reject pile. “Your kind are great at flying but you make terrible maps. They’re useless unless you’re flying.”

  She took a break from her breakfast and waved a claw. “Try the red one.”

  “Is your memory returning?”

  “No, but it looks pretty.”

  Shoroko shook his head and muttered, “Girls.”

  “My ears aren’t damaged.” She slapped the water with her tail and drenched him.

  “Hey! Four-hundred-year-old olissairn aren’t supposed to act playful! It’s not regal.”

  “Is it unregal to observe that the red map is the one most worn?”

  He snatched the scroll and removed it from its tube. “Lucky guess.”

  Melissa flopped out of the pool.

  “How’s the wing?”

  Flap, flap, moan. The breeze from her feeble appendages scattered Shoroko’s carefully assembled pile of provisions. “We’re still walking. Where exactly are we walking?” An orange insect with intricate black designs fluttered into the cavern. “Come here, pretty butterfly.” Melissa extended her wing to guide it closer.

  “Don’t touch it! Get away!” Shoroko grabbed the map roll and swatted back and forth to repel the insect. He circled Melissa and prevented its approach, until it gave up and flitted back out into the sunshine. He bent over panting to catch his breath, one hand on his knee and the other pointing the map toward the cave entrance. “Not a butterfly. It’s an utter-fly. Hate ‘em.”

  “Poisonous?”

  “Worse. Any story you utter in front of them when they are in their cocoon they repeat back to someone else if they land on them. My sister tormented me with her pernicious hobby. Always planting utter-flies on me while I slept. Endless dreams of rescuing princesses, fighting monsters and going on long, painful quests. Only girl I know obsessed with perfecting mind-control.”

  “So she wanted to make you into a hero. What’s so bad about that?”

  “How about when they land on you while you’re awake? You go into a tran
ce and who knows where you’ll end up. I once found myself buried up to my shoulders in quicksand, under a hive, honey all through my hair, and a big tongue licking it off of me. Deadly, revolting, and humiliating all at once.”

  “You survived.”

  “And you will – by avoiding them. Back to our expedition.” Shoroko spread the map on a table. It showed a ring of mountains cut in two places. To the west, a gap led into desert. To the east, an ocean inlet. “We are here, in the Talon Mountains at the southwest edge of the habitable lands.” He traced his finger over and up toward the center. “My sister is being tended to on the Clawtill Plains, in Agotaras Springs, two day’s march this side of Four Rivers.”

  “How long is the journey?”

  “The rivers are gorged from yesterday’s soaking, so four days if we take the Faithful River. Less if your wings mend.”

  Melissa snorted. “Too long. My absence will be noticed by my people. I need a story to explain my departure. You said everything follows a prescribed ritual. Start talking.”

  Shoroko opened his mouth to speak, and out came a roar.

  Melissa opened her eyes wide and jerked her head right and left; so did Shoroko. “That wasn’t me,” they said in unison.

  The roar was from outside, joined by others, each crooning a different pitch. “How long will their greeting last?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Time enough for you to teach me five things: hello, goodbye, yes, no and I’m the boss.”

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Melissa walked into the sunshine. In her head she repeated the words, I am a mean, old dragon. I am a mean, old dragon… This hardly seemed adequate when she counted twenty other mean, old dragons in the clearing before the mouth of her cave. She recalled standing before a menacing pack of physicians as she gave a talk at a medical conference, frozen with a fear rivaled only by the emotion she felt every time her dad brought up the subject of succeeding him at the head of his oil company. Staring at her massive claws didn’t help. Her breathing quickened and her tongue dried out. Then her eyes went blurry and her tail began to twitch. Impersonating their leader probably carried a death sentence. She tried to imagine how they’d carry it out. How about escaping on foot when everyone else can fly?