Tinder Stricken (21 page)

Herb sellers in the market must have thought
this diplomat odd for demanding Millworks-grown greens. Esha had to
agree, in her vinegared thoughts, that returning stolen goods might
do a lot to right wrongs.

“Also,” Atarangi said. “the tool-sliced
betel nut is my orange-gift to you. It is lungta-rich and useful
for green-warm speaking. By human rules, betel nut is a gift given
in yellow moments, and a first step toward becoming kin.”

The bird eyed the offering with a tilted
head, and put her skewering gaze back on Atarangi.

“The thread-woven cloth is a yellow-gift for
you, too. Use it for carrying, if you wish.”

“I sand-brown accept this. You can't unspeak
the tall-headed human's insults.”

“No. I would like to offer apology, though.
We are kin: my tongue is her tongue.”

“
She truth-speaks,”
Rooftop chirped.
“Take the food, fire-kin.”

The female spared a glance to Rooftop, her
feathers settling marginally. Then she stooped to consider some
morsel, maybe a fibre-streaked disc of betel.
“An orange light
in the dark, I'll give. This, it is good food?”

“Yes, yes! Bitter in the mouth, but a
valuable green-tool.”

“These are my gift to you, regardless of
what we hue-speak,” Atarangi said, easing to sit. “But my human kin
slime-green-dislikes the deal made between you-two.”

The thief's crests flared indignant. “It was
a deal, green-made and iron-agreed-to. This, why do humans not
understand this?”

Rooftop passed between Atarangi and the
other phoenix, stretching to take a morsel of betel. It was a
silent wheedling that didn't go unnoticed by the thief bird; she
considered him in the moment he tossed food down his throat, and
she eyed the offered betel again.

“My partner was black-rushing afraid for her
life, and she misspoke,” Atarangi said. “But let yellow morning
wash away night. She apologizes for her untruth.”

Esha did no such thing, but she held her
tongue. The lungta unfurled in her now, adding more scaffolds of
understanding to the phoenixes' calls, more expressions among their
unfurling head feathers.

“
If your kin speaks untruth, yesterday
and this-day, why do you hold flame-bright-kinship with
her?”

“Humans make more mistakes than phoenixes. I
fix mistakes. This makes me red-valued by other humans.”

The thief stretched her neck upward like
growing bamboo, a considering gesture in the silver light of
lungta. And then she said,
“Warming in light. But I have few
moments to discuss this. My kin need me. Your partner wants her
iron-tool back?”

“She does. That iron tool is a precious gift
from my partner's family. They put its purple-wordsmithing-song
flower into a piece of tree-amber, as an eye-pleaser and a treasure
to safe-keep. This type of sharp-tool is very valuable to humans,
and my partner cannot go to a peaceful death without it.”

“
Death-bound orange,”
the bird
muttered.
“
Krehhh.
It is treasure-emerald-valuable to me,
as well. Your partner should not offer things she is unwilling to
give.”

Atarangi hesitated. Esha could imagine her
face, the shifting of her canny eyes.

“I don't want to take it back for no-trade,”
Atarangi finally said. “Will you trade for green lungta-plants?
Maybe seeds, or grass-grain?”

“
All of these. Crest-tall piles.”

This was progress: Esha's heart leaped,
imagining how many phoenix-high piles of yams she made every day of
harvest season.

“Very well,” Atarangi said, “We will gather
for you. May we enter your territory? Only for brief-times.”

The thief shrilled, a high note as uneasy as
her eyes.
“In divine-fire's truth, I can't white-stop anything
from entering my territory. One demand I make: don't eat my
lungta-food.”

“We won't. I honour-bind myself to
that.”

“
Kin ( ),”
she creaked severe,
gesturing a line with her beak that Esha dimly understood as a
bamboo piece,
“Keep fire-light in your head. Mind my territory
lines.”

“
Am your kin,”
he murmured.

Then the thief bird turned her gaze on Esha,
seeming like she might deign to speak — but then the moment broke
like porcelain and without another word, the thief bird flew
away.

After a slow-drawn breath, Atarangi turned
to Esha, her mouth banded tight. “How much of that negotiation did
you catch hold of?”

“Most of it, I think. When the ... the
dealmaker phoenix said to keep away from her lungta food, what did
she mean? Everything with roots in earth? I was hoping for some
bamboo shoots, but if it'd cause another grudge ...”

“Don't worry — she shouldn't mind a little
bamboo missing. But we should leave alone any nuts, fruits and
dark-leafed herbs we find.”

“Your supply will last, I hope? Maybe stop
feeding me so much of it.”

“Mm, I'll need to stop buying so much if
this effort is going to last.” Stepping around Esha's smoldering
prayer approximation, Atarangi offered a hand to help her up. “But
I'm enough like an otter: I've got some tricks.”

Chapter 13

The thought of leaving forest herbs
untouched wasn't so strange for Esha: this was a time to realign to
honour, a bowed-head return with the low-caste rules she had mostly
ever followed. She spent the day cutting and splitting a stand of
bamboo, stacking the pieces staggered enough that they might dry.
It was routine-grooved enough to be soothing — although scraping
off occasional wads of gwara spit was a new addition.

Atarangi was more ardent, with the wild
mother bird in her thoughts. She dug pouches and boxes and vials
from the bottom of her wheeled satchel, considering everything with
with a twist of her mouth. Once she opened boxes, Esha saw that
some of them were hole-aerated and filled with soil and herb
seedlings — including some tree-shaped seedlings that must have
been dug up wild in the moments Esha's back was turned.

“Lucky that guards are too busy staring at
your mask to bother prodding into your luggage.”

Serene as water, Atarangi smiled. “I don't
commonly carry
this
much.”

“Just for this trip? I'm a bad illustration
of morals, I suppose.” Esha started. “Wait — what if some ranger
comes walking past and cuts the plants here? Or another poaching
fieldwoman? Will the dealmaker bird blame us for it?”

“I can't say where lightning will fall,”
Atarangi said. “But all we can do is tell our kin the truth. Esha,
we can't pick anything until our dealmaker gives us such permission
– not one leaf of anything.”

“I won't.”

Atarangi pulled out two tied fabric parcels,
and looked them both over. She swiftly untied one, dumped its
mysterious contents into her inner tunic, and spread the empty
fabric on the ground. She opened the other parcel and spread its
contents — small, pale beans — into a single layer.

“I've got a technique for encouraging seeds
to sprout without taking up any ground. Here, Esha — you might like
to see this.”

When she had dampened and cloth-rolled as
many beans and seeds as she could — a clever idea, Esha had to
admit — Atarangi suggested they comb the forest for foods Clamshell
hadn't considered. Roots, fungi, tree sap drawn with their
knives.

“I don't mind learning the lay of this
plateau,” Esha said, hobbling at Atarangi's side while Rooftop
arced fluttering above them. “It's just that my legs are gone to
seed.” At the mutation's end, she would have a goat's cliff-jumping
legs, not that they would do Esha Of The Fields any good.

Humming concerned, Atarangi eyed the
movements of Esha's stride. “Pain herbs can't cure it any more than
varnish can fix a crumbled wall. I've been thinking — you might use
the pack to sit on. The wheels can take well more than your weight,
so it might aid you in crossing ground.”

“Like a cart? Without a beast pulling it —
unless I'm the beast?”

“You said it,” Atarangi laughed, “not I. Any
mushrooms, my kin?”

Perched on a pine branch bowed deep under
his weight, Rooftop creaked negative. “No food-mushrooms, no cones.
Acquaintance-kin eats green here, I think. And hides green-food,
too.”

“Yes, there are more marked bundles,”
Atarangi mused. “Look over there, another one! We're on the edge of
our acquaintance-kin's territory?”

“You are walking skim-on-top of it.”

Atarangi thought, as forest shadows flowed
over her. “Let's walk father in — I would like to see how many food
troves she has. Only for my own curiosity.”

“As long as I'm not the only one wondering,”
Esha said. Her sense of peace was fading, looking up at a pantry
fit for a mid-caste.

The troves did come thicker as they neared
the mountain's face: Rooftop provided a sky's view and identified
the things well-hidden from a human's view. Trees and bamboo tops
contained vine-wound stacks of kudzu, bundled pine cones, flower
buds and berry clusters. There were contraband things, too — a pot
of withering pink asters, and lychees, and a great, round
melon.

“She's been stealing from the entire
mountain,” Esha said low. “Nobles, traders — she's got a feast. Why
does she need our sweat added to it?”

“Esha,” Atarangi said in the tone that meant
find some patience, if you would,
“we still haven't heard
her entire story.”

They came to a rock outcropping and parted
around it. Esha was so busy thought-grumbling about the extra
distance to walk that she nearly missed the silver flash in a
bamboo's crowning leaves. Silver metal, and polished brown beside
it. Esha stopped.

“Look there — up in that bamboo. Is that
...?”

Atarangi's footsteps stopped crunching.
“Where—
Oh.”

“That's my khukuri.”

Silence hung but this was no time for
Atarangi's thinking and wondering. Esha stood looking at her
khukuri, stolen and salted away in plain sight, of all the
godsdamned
nerve
.

“That's my
khukuri
,” Esha spat,
limping hasty to the bamboo's base. From underneath, the orchid's
petals made a plain outline within the sun-lit resin, definitely
the Kanakisipt orchid but the thief bird had the cheek to tie a
yankvine knot around the handle and call it
hers
.

“Esha, please,” Atarangi called, with panic
a hot wire through her voice. “Be calm. We're making headway with
our dealmaker acquaintance — we'll get your khukuri back by due
process!”

Screw process, Esha thought. She had waited
enough, tolerated enough, and her life's savings wasn't going to be
the garnish on some gutless bird's banquet meal.

She unwound her selfrope. She threw it
around the bamboo's enormous stalk and pulled taut, and placed one
foot against the knob where bamboo segments met.

“Esha! What are you doing?!”

Rooftop shrilled the same.

But Esha was large steps above the ground
now, balanced by all the strength she could muster in her legs.
Pressing inward seemed to numb the pain in her knees: the lentils
from breakfast were an amorphous lungta bracing all her
muscles.

“Esha!” Atarangi shouted below. “Don't do
this! By phoenix customs, you'll— I won't be able to ...!”

Beyond the quivering effort strung through
her body, Esha wondered how she would get down. She had never
climbed bamboo so high before. Having the khukuri's well-honed
blade would help, though: she might drive it into the bamboo stalk
and arrest her fall. She could have the Kanakisipt blade again and
still have friends' warmth and generosity, she could
have
her every need—

A phoenix's scream tore the sky. Nothing
like Rooftop's voice and the bird diving at her was the colour of a
thief: Esha fisted her selfrope in one hand and shielded her head
with the other, slipping by fractions as claws raked her arm.

Esha knew her colouring and her voice, and
with a maelstrom of guilt and anger in her throat Esha spared herb
lungta to listen with.

She couldn't sort out all the shrieking
syllables.
Betrayed
and
snake-brown
and
dishonourable
rang in her head.

“Honour?! You took my most valuable
possession! What's left of my
life!”

Her grip was numb and failing, her knees'
ache rising above the roar of clenched effort. She couldn't see
past the livid feathers slapping her eyelids and the thief bird was
screaming
it was a deal, it was a blue-promised deal!

“I said you could have
something!
The
deal wasn't—“

The thief's beak flashed and pain seared
Esha's face, a stripe she grabbed at with the only hand she could
spare. Rope slipped scorching through her other hand; bamboo
branches gave way and she was falling, her feet digging into the
grassy envelope at the bamboo's base and finding no purchase as
Esha stumbled and let go of her selfrope and again, the ground
struck her breathless. She hurt and she burned with weeks' worth of
impotence, and the thief bird cuffed past her head, probably aiming
for Esha's eyes this time but she couldn't see anyway—

“Wait!” Atarangi called. “Wait,
stop!”

Pant legs curtained Esha's vision. Atarangi
stood between them, shooing the thief bird back and speaking in
desperate Manyori tongue. Esha had space to snatch a deep breath
in; beyond her drumming heart, she heard Atarangi switch,
stumbling, back into Grewian.

“Please,” she said, “you can't solve
anything with white-cutting anger, you'll both be hurt. Let me
negotiate — let me help. Just— Stay where you are. Stay there.”

Rattling, from her pockets.The phoenix
keened, angry and fearful, but that sound faded. A beak took
something floral, something that crunched brittle. With shaking
hands, Esha wiped hot wetness from her face and she could make out
Atarangi's shape feeding the thief from caring-cupped hands.