Forged by Fire (31 page)

The children
could
understand, and we
did
waste time on scraped knees, on children’s squabbles, on hungry little tummies. The need to give and receive love and attention is never more necessary than when security is seeping away, and what was the war about, if not the future of our chil dren?

Emotional times.
Above all of my memories, I’m ashamed to say, there is one that is strongest. It is that of a taste. A taste as bitter as unripe cranberries, starchy and omnipresent on my tongue and the back of my throat. It’s the taste of the concoction Yimtranu boiled for me, from the gizzards of a boar and the roots of the evernight plant, laced with toxins from the blis ter toad and shavings from a gharial’s tooth. A concoction meant to rid me of the debilitating withdrawal symptoms I was suffering from, to cleanse me of my increasing desire to once again hear dragonsong. Even as a fleet of Imperial war galleys sailed into Lireh and disgorged over ten thousand foot soldiers meant to crush our uprising, I fought my crav ings, was haunted by memories of a dragon between my thighs. How I lusted and writhed at nights! How I trembled and sweated during the days! Yimtranu’s concoction was a poor substitute for Gen’s, but it did alleviate my sufferings somewhat . . . though at a cost. My fingers grew clumsy, my head clotted, my tongue thickened. Savga, with little Aga wan always strapped on her back, became something of a nurse to me, mopping my brow, giving me water, explaining to others my fainting spells and bouts of poor eyesight as a difficult pregnancy.
Truth was, a life of a sorts
was
growing within me and causing the fainting. My own life.
It was Yimtranu’s concoctions, see. They were weakening the threads of the charm my mother had spun about me at birth, and the real me was pressing through, like skin show ing behind old fabric. It wasn’t until Yimtranu accused me of not drinking the concoctions she was laboriously brew ing for me that I realized what was happening.
“I
am
drinking them,” I snapped at her. “You’re not mak ing them strong enough.”
“Strong enough, bah! I’ve been curing venom-snared lords for decades; my potions have never once failed! You should be retching at the thought of dragon poison.” She made angry gagging noises to demonstrate.
“Well, I’m not. You’ll just have to make them stronger. Please? Yimtranu? Please?” Addicts know how to whee dle.
She turned away from me and groused at her smoking brazier. “She wants stronger, she’ll get stronger. See if
this
batch will bite through her shield, hey.”
Shield.
Gen’s voice:
It is a most powerful enchantment that sur rounds you. Like a shield, Babu! So powerful, it prevents you from being wholly you.
That was when I knew what was happening to me each time I swallowed more of Yimtranu’s brew: The stuff was weakening the enchantment. And the
me
of me, the me I’d never truly known, was starting to slip through.
Terrifying, that. Did I want to know the real me? Would my unenchanted eyes have poorer vision? Would my re flexes be slower? Would my skin be as darkly whorled as Yimtranu’s, or lightly green-spattered, like Savga’s?
Did I have the courage to face who I really was?
The alternative was suffering through the vicious venomwithdrawal attacks. Some days I chose Yimtranu’s brew, and other days I trembled incessantly with lust for the dragon’s toxin.
Despite all this, I still roamed the Clutch at night, teach ing. No, I taught
because
of my sufferings. I needed the distraction; I needed to feel worthy and special. But the nights changed; the Clutch grew choked with strangers. By overland carriage, Roshu-Lupini Ordipti relocated the bayen ladies and children of his Clutch to Xxamer Zu, be tween caravans of grain, meat, iron ingots, and weaponry. He then flew to our Clutch the ten neonate bulls that had emerged in his cocoon warehouse, along with his adult bull, the great Ordipti, and every destrier and escoa in his stables. In that bold move, Roshu-Lupini Ordipti extended the theater of war across the entire nation and located the heart of it in Xxamer Zu, in the difficult-to-access interior of Malacar, where the mountainous jungle terrain preced ing the dry savanna was unfavorable to enemy ground forces.
Combined with the neonate bulls emerging from the cocoons in our warehouse, fifteen bulls were located upon Xxamer Zu. Never before in recorded history had so many bulls simultaneously existed in one Clutch. We instantly had many allies, and Xxamer Zu burgeoned with lords, warriors, mercenaries, dragonmaster apprentices, destriers, and escoas.
Destrier squadrons were formed, air calvary comprised of lords and dragonmaster apprentices, and an infantry was created of soldiers, myazedo rebels, rishi, and mercenaries. Tansan and Piah joined a troop assigned to guard the co coon warehouse.
We met one day, Tansan and I, by accident: I was with a throng of rishi carrying clay from the banks of the river, and she was carrying an empty urn upon her head to fetch water. Savga noticed her first.
“Mama! Look, here we are!”
I stepped out of the line of rishi walking bent double un der loads of clay. The slab I was carrying upon my back via a strap across my forehead was so heavy I could feel my old rib fractures creaking with each footfall.
Tansan had grown darker and sleeker with muscle over the weeks, and she rivaled my sister for her barbaric beauty. She embraced Savga and dandled Agawan, who chuckled delightedly and kicked his chubby legs.
“Zarq and Tiwana-auntie have looked after you fine,” she said, smiling at her babe, and I took the compliment as high praise. “Look how plump you are, Aga! Savga has been feeding you so well!”
Savga flushed with pride.
Tansan turned her sparkling eyes upon me. “It formed a cocoon, hey.”
It took me a moment to understand that she was refer ring to the brooder she’d stolen and hidden in the hills.
“Who’s with it?”
“Keau and a few others. They keep the bonfires lit. No need to hunt for kwano snakes; the jungle provides enough.”
“So it might transform.”
“It will,” she said with utter confidence. “We’ll have our own bull one day soon.” She handed Agawan back to Savga and patted her on the head. “You be good for Zarq Kazonvia, hey.”
“Will you come sleep with us tonight in the arbiyesku?” Savga asked. I felt a pang of jealousy at the yearning on her face, then disgust at myself for feeling such. Tansan was her mother, not me.
“Can’t tonight, Little Ant. Clutches Re and Cuhan began marching toward us today; war draws nearer.”
My heart fish-flipped. “I didn’t know that.”
“The news will spread like wildfire. You’ll hear it a thou sand times by morning. I found out at dawn.”
“From Chinion?”
A troubled look briefly crossed her face. “He hasn’t re turned yet. But he will. He will.”
I told myself that I imagined the doubt in her voice. So easy it is to convince ourselves that nothing wrong is about to occur, especially if averting the wrong means struggle and courage. I wasn’t the only one guilty of playing a little of the coward’s game. Tansan, too, was refusing to fully em brace the reality that perhaps, just perhaps, she was being negligent by not making contingencies for Chinion’s death, by not following up on the progress of the elders we’d sent to the uprising’s council.
Like me distracting myself by teaching rishi how to write and fight each night—important work, yes; I’ll give myself that much credit—Tansan, too, was focusing too much on becoming a warrior, falling in love with training with a spear instead of fighting for her land.
None of us is infallible.
We went our separate ways, Agawan bawling for his mother.
Tansan was right; the news of Re and Cuhan marching upon us
did
spread like wildfire across the Clutch. As the days progressed, updates on Kratt’s progress spread, too, as well as news concerning the ten-thousand-strong Im perial regiment marching on us from Lireh. I didn’t then know how accurate were the rumors burning the ears and mouths of those in our Clutch, but now I know that most of the rumors had been correct.
In Liru, the downtrodden stormed shops, emporiums, warehouses, and mansions, and burned barrels of lamp oil while chanting the Votive:

In the chambers of Lireh’s heart, the spider is spinning now,
And the owl hoots above the emptiness that was once filled by daronpuis.
The webs will not be swept away!

In the Village of the Eggs, the four most powerful Clutches in the nation—Lutche, Ka, Re, and Cuhan (the lords from Cuhan given little choice but to side with their usurper)—sent regiments of destrier-mounted lords to stop the rioters rampaging through Liru’s outlying nashvenirs, the sacred ranches where onahmes that had been bred at Arena laid fertile eggs.

More rumors: The Imperial regiment was being haunted by a band of rebels known as the Black Sixty. Water sources were visited in advance and fouled with animal corpses; wagons of provisions were exploded by incendiaries. The profuse insects of Malacar’s jungles were bestowing fever and festering rashes upon the Imperial soldiers; marching hours were decreasing as deaths in the mobile infirmaries doubled. Perhaps the regiment’s commanders had been well aware of the distances in Malacar, but rumor had it that the regiment’s soldiers—islanders used to short marches along smooth roads lined by well-provisioned farms—were sorely discouraged by the reality of Malacar.

I pushed myself harder, worked longer, taught later and later each night, trying to drive away the dread fear bloom ing within me.

One evenfall, Xxamer Zu sent out squadrons of incen diary destriers. They strafed Kratt’s infantry after twilight, when crossbow archers couldn’t see our fliers coming, and when cooking fires acted as a beacon. The road Kratt’s in fantry traveled was through the salt pans, and thus far more exposed to aerial attack than the jungle-clotted road upon which the Imperial regiment traveled.

Two nights running we strafed Kratt’s army; then on the third night, enemy squadrons intercepted our fliers. Every destrier and flier Xxamer Zu sent out perished that dusk, and Kratt’s army continued its advance.

Closer. Closer.
I made incendiaries frantically, and my lust for venom and dragonsong was an almost unbearable thirst, a bur geoning madness I could only temporarily douse by down ing Yimtranu’s brew. As feverishly as I worked, others labored: our Clutch was a frantic hive pausing for rest only during the latest hours of night.
Then came the dawn when Kratt’s infantry was less than a day away.
Out on the salt pans—separated from Xxamer Zu by less than ten miles of rolling savanna—a gray smirch boiled from the sky and landed. That smirch was the armorplated destriers and armed lords of Clutches Ka, Cuhan, Lutche, and Re. Somewhere in that roil of men and swords and dragons was Kratt himself. At his side stood my sis ter. When she stepped onto Xxamer Zu soil, my mother’s haunt would appear.
Destriers were speedily saddled, incendiaries were loaded into nets beneath their bellies. Commanders ral lied their fighters. Ranks of crossbow archers swarmed the northeasterly outskirts of Xxamer Zu, facing the enemy in the distance. The crossbows would be the first wave of our ground assault, shooting enemy destriers from the sky, then raining quarrels upon Kratt’s oncoming foot soldiers.
Bandages and medicaments and surgical saws were hast ily readied by proselytes of the Chanoom sect. Elderly ri shi and mothers with young children prayed aloud as they flocked toward the center of the Clutch, infants and mea ger belongings on their backs. Many continued toward the safety of the jungle. No one stopped them.
In that turmoil, Tansan located me, where Savga and I were frantically packing clay shells with powder, kerosene, and straw. Tansan’s eyes flashed with anger and urgency.
“They’ve made no provisions to protect us against the Skykeeper,” she panted. “I’ve just learned that the Djimbi elders we sent to headquarters have been kept segregated all these weeks and were never once consulted.”
I stared at her, appalled. “And Chinion?”
“He’s still not here.” The admission nearly strangled her.
“You swore he’d return!” I cried, feeling utterly pan icked. Chinion was the voice of rishi and Djimbi to the council. “Tansan, you
swore
it!”
“As he swore to me,” she lashed back. “But the reality is that he hasn’t arrived, and our wisest elders that we sent to the Council of Seven have been scorned, and the battle is now upon us.”
I wanted to shriek and pull my hair out; what in the name of the One Dragon did she expect me to
do
?
This was my Clutch. These were my people. This was my rebellion, and I’d been wrong, far wrong, to focus all my energies on educating the rishi and rely instead on the great unknown Chinion, a handful of Djimbi elders unused to political scheming, and the Council of Seven—the direc tors of the Great Uprising—to prepare for the Skykeeper’s probable attack.
No half measures.
“Fine,” I said grimly. “I’ll . . . I’ll . . . do something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know!” I cried. “Let me think—”
“Go to the stockade. Take Savga and Agawan with you.” It was an order; her face brooked no argument. “Keep them in there, away from the front line.”
I nodded, thoughts spinning. “I’ll find Malaban.”
“Go, then. May the Dragon give you strength.” She turned and ran, long thighs flashing in the sun. The look on Savga’s face as she watched her go just about ripped my heart out.
No time for emotion; I’d squandered my days and nights focusing on
my
wants, instead of thinking bigger. Time to get outside of myself.
I grabbed Savga’s hand and ran for the center of the Clutch. Through curses and sheer will, I managed to locate Malaban Bri in the frantic hive of activity within the stock ade that had once been the realm of Xxamer Zu’s daron puis. The great bear of a man looked up from a sheaf of papers as I barged into his office. He regarded me warily as heralds, lords, and commanders thronged the corridor be hind me. I shut the door. Savga pressed against me, Agawan wide-eyed in the sling on her back.
“How did you get in?” he said gruffly. “Never mind, we’ve no time. What do you want?”
I hadn’t seen him since the night I’d banished my moth er’s haunt from Xxamer Zu, when he’d overseen the de livery of our first neonate bull, as well as a yearling, to the departing Kwembibi Shafwai. But I knew that his report of what had occurred that night had prevented me from being delivered to Kratt.
“I want to know what provisions you’ve made to protect us against the Skykeeper.” My lower jaw was thrust out.
He cursed under his breath and shot a look at his papercrowded desk.
“You haven’t consulted with the Djimbi elders we sent you. Malaban, you
know
what we’re going up against. You witnessed—”
“I’m not on the Council of Seven; I only advise them. No lord but me saw what occurred that night. As far as the council is concerned, this talk of Skykeepers and other world magics is beyond the realm of war.”
“It
is
the war! Our incendiaries are nothing compared to the Skykeeper!”
“Zarq, you don’t understand. That council you stood be fore answered to another one, a higher one—”
“Take me to them.”
“I can’t.”
“Now.”
For a moment he looked like quarry being pursued by birds of prey, hounds, and hunters, all. Then he nodded, brusquely, and came out from behind his desk.
Savga and I swiftly followed him out the door.