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Authors: Laurence Yep
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angle, staring sorrowfully at the carnage.
In her lower right hand, Nanaia grasped a scepter with a flowering head to symbolize the power she had over the dead, for the same earth that gave its bounty to the living also embraced the dead. Nanaia the Peaceful also granted eternal sleep and renewal.
Scirye asked the goddess to grant her sister peace, but as she used what remained of her sleeve to clean the dust from her sister’s face, Scirye knew that Nishke could have no rest until the dragon was killed and the ring recovered.
Kles straightened upon his mistress’s shoulder as he folded his wings and brought his forepaws respectfully together. “It was the way she would have wanted to die,” he said, “keeping faith with her duty.”
“I was looking at her just before the monster fell on her. I saw her face, Kles. Nishke thought she had
failed.’
The realization made Scirye double over as if a knife had stabbed her.
The girl rocked back and forth for a moment as she covered herears. “And I can still hear that dragon mocking her.” She shook her head violently as if trying to toss the sound out of her memory. And inside her, she could feel the anger swelling until she thought she would burst.
Nishke could not recover the ring. She could not restore the honor of the Pippalanta or her family. Well, then, Scirye would just have to do it for her. For all of them.
Scirye turned to Nanaia yet again. Sometimes she was the Kind and sometimes the Peaceful. But her upper left hand clutched a bow, for when the laws of Kindness and Peace were broken, Nanaia became the Hunter. Terrible, unforgiving, and above all relentless until she had exacted her revenge.
And now Scirye’s heart asked the goddess for a second boon: Make me like you until I’ve punished the dragon, the girl prayed. I don’t care what happens to me afterward
.
A breeze blew in from the broken skylight, brushing the dust before it. Scirye’s eyes followed the little white cloud along the floor until it stopped against the wall just beneath the flying carpet.
Was it a sign or a coincidence? Whichever it was, she knew deep in her heart that this was Tumarg. Afraid, yet determined, the girl rose and walked toward a corner of the room.
“Where are you going?” Kles asked as he adjusted to her getting up.
“I wanted to be a warrior,” Scirye said. Angrily, she remembered Leech’s harsh words to her. “Well, pretending
is
for children. There’s only one thing to do.”
“This is no time to do something wild,” Kles said.
“If my ancestors hadn’t been a little wild, they couldn’t have fought their way across a wilderness and taken an empire,” Scirye said as her eyes searched the room.
“That was all very fine for a band of refugees, but it’s completely out of place in 1941,” Kles argued.
Energy suddenly surged through Scirye, warm and electric. She went over to the goddess, and with a bow to Nanaia, picked up the halberd that Nishke had tried to use in her last desperate attack. Scirye thought the shaft was still warm from her sister’s hands. It was so heavy that she dragged the shaft behind her until she reached the old flying carpet still hanging within its gold frame.
“You don’t know how to fly,” Kles objected.
“When we were at the Paris embassy, I rode a griffin,” Scirye countered. The Kushan ambassador there had been fond of flying about the city on his griffin, to the delight of the Parisians. As a bribe for behaving at an important reception, Lady Sudarshane had gotten the ambassador to reward Scirye with a ride.
“Only in the embassy courtyard,” Kles pointed out, “and no more than a meter up. A carousel horse could have taken you even farther above the ground.”
She had, indeed, only gone about in circles, but even so … “It still counts,” Scirye insisted, and shifted her grip on the shaft so that she was gripping it near the halberd blade.
Kles gave a startled cry and flapped away from her as
In her lower right hand, Nanaia grasped a scepter with a flowering head to symbolize the power she had over the dead, for the same earth that gave its bounty to the living also embraced the dead. Nanaia the Peaceful also granted eternal sleep and renewal.
Scirye asked the goddess to grant her sister peace, but as she used what remained of her sleeve to clean the dust from her sister’s face, Scirye knew that Nishke could have no rest until the dragon was killed and the ring recovered.
Kles straightened upon his mistress’s shoulder as he folded his wings and brought his forepaws respectfully together. “It was the way she would have wanted to die,” he said, “keeping faith with her duty.”
“I was looking at her just before the monster fell on her. I saw her face, Kles. Nishke thought she had
failed.’
The realization made Scirye double over as if a knife had stabbed her.
The girl rocked back and forth for a moment as she covered herears. “And I can still hear that dragon mocking her.” She shook her head violently as if trying to toss the sound out of her memory. And inside her, she could feel the anger swelling until she thought she would burst.
Nishke could not recover the ring. She could not restore the honor of the Pippalanta or her family. Well, then, Scirye would just have to do it for her. For all of them.
Scirye turned to Nanaia yet again. Sometimes she was the Kind and sometimes the Peaceful. But her upper left hand clutched a bow, for when the laws of Kindness and Peace were broken, Nanaia became the Hunter. Terrible, unforgiving, and above all relentless until she had exacted her revenge.
And now Scirye’s heart asked the goddess for a second boon: Make me like you until I’ve punished the dragon, the girl prayed. I don’t care what happens to me afterward
.
A breeze blew in from the broken skylight, brushing the dust before it. Scirye’s eyes followed the little white cloud along the floor until it stopped against the wall just beneath the flying carpet.
Was it a sign or a coincidence? Whichever it was, she knew deep in her heart that this was Tumarg. Afraid, yet determined, the girl rose and walked toward a corner of the room.
“Where are you going?” Kles asked as he adjusted to her getting up.
“I wanted to be a warrior,” Scirye said. Angrily, she remembered Leech’s harsh words to her. “Well, pretending
is
for children. There’s only one thing to do.”
“This is no time to do something wild,” Kles said.
“If my ancestors hadn’t been a little wild, they couldn’t have fought their way across a wilderness and taken an empire,” Scirye said as her eyes searched the room.
“That was all very fine for a band of refugees, but it’s completely out of place in 1941,” Kles argued.
Energy suddenly surged through Scirye, warm and electric. She went over to the goddess, and with a bow to Nanaia, picked up the halberd that Nishke had tried to use in her last desperate attack. Scirye thought the shaft was still warm from her sister’s hands. It was so heavy that she dragged the shaft behind her until she reached the old flying carpet still hanging within its gold frame.
“You don’t know how to fly,” Kles objected.
“When we were at the Paris embassy, I rode a griffin,” Scirye countered. The Kushan ambassador there had been fond of flying about the city on his griffin, to the delight of the Parisians. As a bribe for behaving at an important reception, Lady Sudarshane had gotten the ambassador to reward Scirye with a ride.
“Only in the embassy courtyard,” Kles pointed out, “and no more than a meter up. A carousel horse could have taken you even farther above the ground.”
She had, indeed, only gone about in circles, but even so … “It still counts,” Scirye insisted, and shifted her grip on the shaft so that she was gripping it near the halberd blade.
Kles gave a startled cry and flapped away from her as
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