He clearly did not understand enough Pygmy, yet.
“Pip teach Pygmy-speak,” said Balthion, in his poor accent. He had made good progress into the hot season and learned many words, but he still spoke like a baby. Pip knew she spoke worse than that in his language.
She just did not have the words to say what she wanted to say. She tore at her hair in frustration. In the end, what was boiling inside of her simply exploded out as, “Pip no monkey!”
Flinging tears of rage left and right, Pip marched off across the cage.
* * * *
That evening, a storm swept in from the north, bringing a sharp snow shower that carpeted their cage within half an hour. Pip sat beneath their shelter and caught the fat yet fragile snowflakes in her hand. So beautiful, and gone so quickly. Perhaps her parents saw her life like that. Had they mourned her death?
Abruptly, Hunagu stood beside her, his great chest heaving and his breath steaming in the cold night air. He stared urgently at the sky. “Bad thing,” he said.
“Bad … oof!”
Pip gasped as Hunagu dived on top of her. His hand was so huge, he only needed one finger to cover her mouth while the rest of his palm enveloped her upper body. He rolled beneath the shelter, taking Pip with him, but he cradled her carefully to avoid crushing her.
She was about to yell at him when she saw, past the leaf-fringed edge of their roof, a vast shadow winging from the north, as if borne on the wings of the storm. She saw clouds through it. Yet it was not a shadow, for it rippled like black, oily water–and as it passed, there was a sense of overwhelming, visceral terror such as she had never experienced before. The flying vervet monkeys dropped from their perches in a dead faint. Several cages further away, the painted dogs of the Northern Isles set up such a chorus of yipping and howling that it made her skin creep. Beneath her, Hunagu’s heart boomed against her back. He made a sound like a whimper.
The creature seemed to have wings, although it was hard for Pip to tell in the gloom. She was grateful for Hunagu’s hand muffling her mouth, for a scream finally managed to find its way up from the frozen, silent cavern of her chest, only to die against his hand.
It hungered. It hunted.
And then it was gone. Pip and Hunagu held each other until their shaking subsided. When she slept, it was to dream of the shadow-creature stalking her endlessly through a dream-jungle. Pip did not sleep the rest of that night.
B
althion Did not
return for several days. But when he did, he brought with him a table and two chairs. He placed them behind the first gate, inside the stone room, and bade the zookeeper unlock the gate into the enclosure. He seated himself with the care of a Pygmy elder. To Pip’s surprise, the zookeeper left, locking the inner gate behind him.
Pip stared at Balthion.
Bowing his head, he indicated the chairs. He said, “Pip is not a monkey.”
For the first time, there were no bars between them.
Her smile felt as though it had been masked by a cloud, perhaps for years. He understood.
Pip made to enter the stone room behind the gate, but her feet froze with a second shock. Balthion had brought a girl. She was not bad-looking for a big person. She was beautiful. She wore fine clothes, and had long, straight hair which fell down her back like a waterfall of dark jungle honey. Her eyes were the same green as her father’s, lively and friendly, and her face a slimmer, prettier version of his.
“I’m Arosia,” she smiled. “You must be Pip.”
Pip stared unabashedly at the tall girl, thinking that the twin suns had walked into the stone room, until Balthion took her hand in his–another shock–and showed her how to clasp wrists with Arosia. “Women greet like this. Men, like this.” Taking his daughter’s hand, Balthion bowed from the waist. He blew once upon her knuckles, made an odd gesture in front of his face twice, and then kissed the palm of Arosia’s hand three times.
“Arosia is twelve summers ancient, Pip,” said Balthion. “Your age.”
“No, not ‘ancient’. Say, ‘old’,” Pip trilled.
Arosia laughed. “That’s Pygmy speech, Dad? Amazing! By the Islands, Pip, we’re going to be friends. I will tutor you in Island Standard. You will learn to read and write. I will come here as often as I can after my lessons, as long as you help Dad with his research.”
Happiness spread like molten suns-shine through her veins. She wrinkled her nose at the girl. Chuckling merrily, Arosia wrinkled her nose, too.
And so the remainder of the warm season passed in a joyful blur for Pip–except for recurrent nightmares about the oily Shadow Dragon, but even those faded with time–and right on into the golden leaf-blowing of autumn. Each day, Arosia taught her five runes or five letters. Whole worlds unfolded before her. Those squiggles meant something! There were one hundred and eleven letters, and four hundred and sixty-nine basic runic symbols, which often combined with each other in bewildering ways. “Just keep practising,” she insisted, gently. “You can do it, Pip.” Pip wrote with bamboo sticks in the soil. She sketched imaginary runes on the walls. She traced words in the air with her sword as she danced through her exercise routines.
Hunagu told her she had worms in her head. Pip taught him how to say greetings in Island Standard. “Pip silly spider-monkey,” he chuckled. “Pip dance like crazy bat.”
Pip showed Balthion the name-tattoo on her calf. “Pip’úrth’l-iòlall-Yò’oótha,” she said, spelling the runes she knew with her finger. Some were different to those she had learned. She thought Balthion would swoon, he was so overcome.
“Ancient Southern runes,” he crowed. “Do you know what this means for my research? Can I copy them, Pip?”
“You won’t steal them?”
“What, chop off your leg? Islands’ sakes, girl, you do prattle on like a parakeet.”
With reading came knowledge; and with knowledge, a growing awareness of how little she knew about anything. Learning arithmetic, science, trade and the history and geography of the Island-World opened up new vistas of imagination for her. Pip eagerly traced the Crescent Islands on a map with her fingertip. That was her home. Now she could place it in her head. She learned about the three great races in the world, the Humans, Dragons, and those who could be both–Shapeshifters.
Yet she lived in a cage with monkeys and her friend Hunagu. Everyone else was free to come and go as they pleased.
Nor were big people truly free, she learned later. Big people had jobs. Some of them made war on other Islands and Island-Kingdoms. At that time, the Island of Sylakia–where the zoo was located–was at war with another Island called Tyrodia. Big people soldiers made weapons and killed each other in these wars, which sounded much like the fights her tribe used to have with neighbouring Pygmy tribes, only both Islands were making alliances with the Dragons and their Dragon Riders, who were trying to keep the peace.
Big person children had to go to school, Arosia told her. Soon, she would start attending a new school in Sylakia Town, in preparation for going to a magical-sounding place called the Academy.
“School sounds wonderful,” said Pip. “So many friends to enjoy, so much to learn …”
“So many teachers telling you exactly what to do and how to behave,” said Arosia. “You have Hunagu, Pip. And you’ve learned so much already. Did you know, I’ve been teaching you for two years, today? And, Dad has a special surprise for you.”
“Ooh, tell me, tell me, tell me.” Pip bounced on her toes.
“I shouldn’t.”
Pip stuck out her tongue. “Then today’s the day you have to meet Hunagu.”
“I–Pipsqueak, you are joking, aren’t you?” Arosia did not look at all comfortable with the idea.
“Come on. Two years, and you’ve never touched him. You’re behaving like one of your ralti sheep. Which I have never seen, might I remind you?”
“No,” said Arosia. A shadow seemed to flit across her expression.
“Hunagu. Come here.”
Hunagu, who had been lolling in the sun, turned to regard her with his saucer-sized black eyes. “Pip friend dare touch mighty Hunagu?”
“Behave, or Pip wrestle Hunagu into mud.”
Arosia’s eyes widened as the gigantic Oraial approached them, his knuckles sinking into the soft earth with the weight of his massively muscled upper body. Pip slipped out of the narrow gap in the gate, which the zookeeper had taken to locking in place so that it could be opened no further, and ran to meet Hunagu. She wondered how tall he was, and how many tons he weighed. Could a Dragonship even bear his weight?
“Look, Arosia. He’s so gentle.”
Hunagu scooped her up in his paw. His thumb alone was thicker than her thigh.
To her credit, Arosia came right up to the gate. She called, “Don’t leave me alone, Pip. Uh–Dad will kill me if I go into the cage.”
Pip dragged Hunagu’s hand over. Her friend was shy! Or scared. She wanted to tease the Oraial, but he had been a little touchy about teasing, recently. Male Apes, she thought. They were always acting grouchy about something. Hunagu had taken to climbing their new frame right to the top, and staring about him with what he thought was majesty. She wanted to laugh every time he puffed out his chest or admired his reflection in one of the crysglass windows. Now he would not touch Arosia?
“P-P-Pip,” Arosia stammered as Pip drew her hands into Hunagu’s palm.
“Make nice, Hunagu,” Pip ordered him.
“Me Hunagu,” the Oraial rumbled, in Island Standard. “Please meet lady.”
Pip rolled her eyes. “I taught him better than that, Arosia.”
“He speaks?”
“You speak?” Pip echoed rudely. “Of course he does.”
“Arosia!” Her father stood at the second gateway, ashen-faced. “Get away from that Oraial at once. Pip, how dare you put my daughter in such danger? You ought to know better.”
Oddly, Pip experienced a pang of joy at the tone of his rebuke. Her parents used to say things like that. Only, they might have said, ‘Pip, don’t shoot arrows at your friends,’ or, ‘Pip, that snake’s dangerous. Put it down.’
When Hunagu ambled off to find a patch of suns-shine, Balthion said, “I’ve someone for you to meet, Pip. This is my son Durithion. We call him Duri.”
Entering the stone room, Pip held out her hand for the big person blowing-signing-kissing routine which Balthion had taught her. Duri, however, turned ten shades of puce and did not seem to know where to look. He said, “She’s not wearing any clothes, Dad.”
“She’s a Pygmy,” said Balthion.
“I’m not crossing swords with some naked little savage,” said Durithion.
“She’s not a savage.” Balthion seemed flustered. “Islands’ sakes, boy, haven’t you listened to anything I’ve been telling you? Very well. Arosia, will you lend Pip your over-tunic to save your brave brother from fainting?”
Pip burned inwardly as she pulled on the unfamiliar garment. Stupid boy, calling her a savage. As if clothes made any difference to the person wearing them. Those big people who had torched her village had been fully dressed. They were the real savages.
“I brought Duri here, Pip, because he needs a sparring partner,” said Balthion. “His grades with the sword are disgraceful. If he wants to attend the Academy, he needs the kind of training I cannot give him because of my disabilities. But I’ve seen you with your bamboo sticks, Pip. Would you be willing to help my son?”
Duri sniffed, “Bamboo sticks? I’ve been studying the blade for–”
Balthion gestured to a servant, who had been waiting outside the second gate. He passed several shields and weapons through the metal bars. “Shields. Training swords–blunted, but they’ll still hurt.” Balthion passed one hilt-first to Pip. “You know how to use one of these?”
It was heavier than she had expected. Pip nodded.
“Shield?”
“No, thank you.” Pip swished the sword through the air. It felt very large for her. Did Pygmy warriors use blades this heavy? Or … no, she remembered them wearing a long dagger at either hip.
“Dad, you expect me to fight a
girl
to improve my skills?”
Pip had never met a more aggravating person. Five years of stares through the crysglass windows were not a shade on what she felt now. This big person boy thought he was too good to fight a Pygmy warrior? A little girl-savage? She’d savage him, alright.
Her feet slipped into a ready position. Copying what she had read in a story, she said, “Guard yourself, Sylakian rogue.”
A wicked chuckle issued from Balthion’s mouth.
Duri slipped a shield onto his arm and raised his sword in a mocking salute. “I’ll try to be gentle, little girl.”
“How noble of you,” she retorted.
Pip feinted to his right, to his sword hand. Gladness burned like fire in her throat. This felt so right. How could a person so love battle, the heft of a sword in their hand, the clash of wills across the space that separated her from a hated enemy? Well, not an enemy as such, but a spoiled Sylakian brat. Side-stepping his clumsy thrust, Pip struck his shield. She kicked out, making Duri stumble. Now she recalled her Pygmy warrior-instructor. His dry voice filled her mind. ‘Shift your weight like a cobra. Coil and strike. Always watch the eyes. The eyes mirror the soul. Read the signs.’ She read his overhand attack easily. The heavy sword slowed her return blow.
‘Use the warrior-passions. Flow with them like a river pouring over the Island’s edge into the Cloudlands.’ The forms were there, carved into her memory. She needed a second blade. But a warrior should know how to fight one-handed, or both. Pip defended herself, deflecting the boy’s cautious blows with an economy of movement. He was gaining in confidence after an awkward beginning. His eyes narrowed. He knew he was in a real battle.
Now she slithered into the attack, swaying past his flickering blade to jab her elbow into his side. Duri gasped. Pip sprang lithely upward, spinning on the axis of her body before letting her blade snap out suddenly. She pulled the blow, showing her control.
“You’re dead.”
The blunt blade rested against his neck.
“Good,” said Balthion, drily. “Pip, a better swordsman would only have killed you
four
times before then. Let’s discuss where you went wrong.”
* * * *
Pip missed Balthion in the cold season. He slipped on the icy cobbles on his way to the zoo and injured his back. She begged and begged the zookeeper to let her see him, with all the power of her new command of Island Standard. In the end, she was allowed to accompany Arosia in her litter, chained hand and foot, with a dozen sworn, life-and-death promises that Pip would be returned safely. The zoo owner was travelling in the warm Southern Islands for the cold season.
She had not set foot outside of her enclosure in six and a half years.
Rain sheeted across the dull grey, slate rooftops of Sylakia Town. The four male servants carrying their light, covered litter were already soaked. Pip knew her eyes were enormously round as they jogged the half-league into town. The buildings grew grander with every step. She perceived many things she had words for, but had never seen–bakeries and shops, tanneries and pony-carts, children floating boats in the puddles and dogs as tall as any Pygmy.
She fingered the cloth of the dress Arosia had brought her. It was the finest linen she had ever worn, soft and comfortable. People wore clothes. Beasts in zoos wore nothing at all.
“Here we are,” said Arosia.
Her eyes rose, awed. Three stories tall and many rooms wide, the house was larger than the village she remembered. How could big people need so much? Pip had never felt smaller as she ascended to the front door, which was twelve feet tall in carved mahogany hardwood. One servant smiled warmly at her. The other sniffed as though he had just seen a scrawny rat crawl up the stairs.