kudzu into her mouth, all the leaves
she could rake off the stem.
While she chewed, the phoenix sat silent.
Feathered wings fluttered again and the slightest of weights jolted
down the trap line, and now the brazen creature sat staring down
its bristly beak at Esha.
“ This is not a killing-trap for
phoenix-kin? No violet-coloured ( )?”
“I ...? I was trying to catch things that
walk on land. A hare. Maybe a pika.”
“ It follows that you offer me red
food?”
“You mean meat? You can have meat, if that's
what you want!”
The phoenix grumbled, and stepped downward
to examine Esha's snared leg. Jutting from the edges of its forked
tail were its two stringfeathers, each one knotted around a dozen
no-doubt-stolen trinkets. The phoenix's fire strikers — two rocks,
one dull like iron and one glittering like fools' gold— pulled the
left-side stringfeather so it plumbed straight toward Esha's face.
If she saw the bird reach for its iron and pyrite, she would be as
good as burned.
“I can’t untie myself.” Esha paused. “Untie
— you know what that means?”
“ Criss-cross, tawny to blue.” The
phoenix shot a look at Esha, brief as a needle's prick. “Phoenix-kin are made of scarlet knots. Better tying-skill than
( ).”
A woman would have better luck talking to
her own shoes. Esha held her tongue, and held it tighter while the
phoenix worked its beaktip into the slip knot. Sharp pressure slid
between leather and pant cotton but it couldn't slide far
enough.
“ Too tight,” the bird creaked.
“I know that. You’ll need to cut it. I think
you might be large enough to hold a knife.”
“ An iron-tool? Good iron, no (
)?”
“Yes, yes! The knife!” Esha flailed toward
the ground. “Pick that up, and use the pointed edge on this trap. Cut it. You understand?”
It stared. And then it hopped off of Esha,
sailing past with a rush of feathers. It flapped back up a moment
later, alighting sideways on the trap line with the khukuri clasped
in one wiry foot. For a moment, the phoenix stretched its ropy neck
backward, staring at the khukuri with a gradual flaring of head
crests.
“ This, an iron cutting-tool with ...
crawling-( )-yellow on the end? Inside the crawling-( )-yellow ...
This, it is a ( )-purple-song flower?”
“Gaah,” Esha sighed, “what are you
chattering about? It's a khukuri. A knife, for cutting. The golden
part is pine resin with an orchid flower inside. Just use the sharp
part on the trap! Not on me, though!”
Still, the phoenix sat there. It turned
covetous eyes down at Esha; she suddenly dreaded the beast dropping
the khukuri and splitting her skull with it.
“ ( )-iron cuts you free of the ( )-trap.
That done, what will I receive?”
“I already told you—“
The phoenix screeched, loud and brassy. “What green-growing will you give?!”
Esha spluttered. “Yams! Millet! Sesame! Any
plant humans grow, I'll get you some! Carrots! I don't know, what
do you want?!”
The bird's eyes glittered. Then it turned
the khukuri in its clawed grip and applied its beak to the blade. A
clumsy cut, and another, and each cut brought downward movement.
There was a deciding instant, a stretching like anticipation, and
then the yankvine snapped like a bowshot and the ground blessedly
knocked Esha's breath from her.
“ This,” the phoenix above her
creaked , “a tool with a ( )-purple-song flower inside. This
flower is a kind of food. This, I will take.”
“No!” Esha cried. She laid there, joints
searing with the night's torture, gasping on the forest floor as
another phoenix sat well beyond her grasp.
It turned away, wings fanning open. “(
)-blue kin, this bargain is made.” And with the Kanakisipt
khukuri held tight in its claws, it winged away, gone through the
pines like snuffed fire.
“No, no!” Esha pushed off the
leaf-littered ground. Her head twirled and everything was hurting
now; momentum carried her over onto splayed, shaking hands while
her heart
she could rake off the stem.
While she chewed, the phoenix sat silent.
Feathered wings fluttered again and the slightest of weights jolted
down the trap line, and now the brazen creature sat staring down
its bristly beak at Esha.
“ This is not a killing-trap for
phoenix-kin? No violet-coloured ( )?”
“I ...? I was trying to catch things that
walk on land. A hare. Maybe a pika.”
“ It follows that you offer me red
food?”
“You mean meat? You can have meat, if that's
what you want!”
The phoenix grumbled, and stepped downward
to examine Esha's snared leg. Jutting from the edges of its forked
tail were its two stringfeathers, each one knotted around a dozen
no-doubt-stolen trinkets. The phoenix's fire strikers — two rocks,
one dull like iron and one glittering like fools' gold— pulled the
left-side stringfeather so it plumbed straight toward Esha's face.
If she saw the bird reach for its iron and pyrite, she would be as
good as burned.
“I can’t untie myself.” Esha paused. “Untie
— you know what that means?”
“ Criss-cross, tawny to blue.” The
phoenix shot a look at Esha, brief as a needle's prick. “Phoenix-kin are made of scarlet knots. Better tying-skill than
( ).”
A woman would have better luck talking to
her own shoes. Esha held her tongue, and held it tighter while the
phoenix worked its beaktip into the slip knot. Sharp pressure slid
between leather and pant cotton but it couldn't slide far
enough.
“ Too tight,” the bird creaked.
“I know that. You’ll need to cut it. I think
you might be large enough to hold a knife.”
“ An iron-tool? Good iron, no (
)?”
“Yes, yes! The knife!” Esha flailed toward
the ground. “Pick that up, and use the pointed edge on this trap. Cut it. You understand?”
It stared. And then it hopped off of Esha,
sailing past with a rush of feathers. It flapped back up a moment
later, alighting sideways on the trap line with the khukuri clasped
in one wiry foot. For a moment, the phoenix stretched its ropy neck
backward, staring at the khukuri with a gradual flaring of head
crests.
“ This, an iron cutting-tool with ...
crawling-( )-yellow on the end? Inside the crawling-( )-yellow ...
This, it is a ( )-purple-song flower?”
“Gaah,” Esha sighed, “what are you
chattering about? It's a khukuri. A knife, for cutting. The golden
part is pine resin with an orchid flower inside. Just use the sharp
part on the trap! Not on me, though!”
Still, the phoenix sat there. It turned
covetous eyes down at Esha; she suddenly dreaded the beast dropping
the khukuri and splitting her skull with it.
“ ( )-iron cuts you free of the ( )-trap.
That done, what will I receive?”
“I already told you—“
The phoenix screeched, loud and brassy. “What green-growing will you give?!”
Esha spluttered. “Yams! Millet! Sesame! Any
plant humans grow, I'll get you some! Carrots! I don't know, what
do you want?!”
The bird's eyes glittered. Then it turned
the khukuri in its clawed grip and applied its beak to the blade. A
clumsy cut, and another, and each cut brought downward movement.
There was a deciding instant, a stretching like anticipation, and
then the yankvine snapped like a bowshot and the ground blessedly
knocked Esha's breath from her.
“ This,” the phoenix above her
creaked , “a tool with a ( )-purple-song flower inside. This
flower is a kind of food. This, I will take.”
“No!” Esha cried. She laid there, joints
searing with the night's torture, gasping on the forest floor as
another phoenix sat well beyond her grasp.
It turned away, wings fanning open. “(
)-blue kin, this bargain is made.” And with the Kanakisipt
khukuri held tight in its claws, it winged away, gone through the
pines like snuffed fire.
“No, no!” Esha pushed off the
leaf-littered ground. Her head twirled and everything was hurting
now; momentum carried her over onto splayed, shaking hands while
her heart
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