neetha Napew - Spellsinger

Flor. None of the others tried to dissuade him. They had not the right, and they

knew he had to try. They wanted him to try.

The near barracks' wall suddenly collapsed in a Niagara of flaming embers and

hot coals. He shielded himself with the duar and his green cape. There was a

roaring in his ears from the flames, and wood exploded from the heat ahead.

"You! Deviationist! Counterrevolutionary!" The epithets emerged fast and

accusing from the fire, though so far without accompanying arcs of flame.

Jon-Tom looked up from beneath his cape and found himself only a couple of yards

away from the glowering visage of Falameezar. Red eyes burned down into his own,

and plate-sized teeth gleamed in the orange light as the dragon-skull dipped

dowr toward him....

XXI

"Lies, lies, lies! You lied to me." A massive clawed foot gestured toward the

inner city. "This is no commune, not even in part, but instead a virulent nest

of capitalistic vice. It needs not to be reformed, for it is beyond that. It

needs to be cleansed!"

"Now hold on a minute, Falameezar." Jon-Tom tried hard to sound righteous. "What

gives you the right to decide what should happen to all these workers?"

"Workers... pagh!" Fire scorched the cobblestones just to Jon-Tom's right. "They

have the tasks of workers, but the souls of imperialists! As for my right, I am

pure of philosophy and dedicated in my arms. I can tell when a society is

capable of achieving a noble state... or is beyond redemption! And besides," he

spat a petulant burst of fire at a nearby market stall, which immediately burst

into flame, "you lied to me."

Since indecision was clearly the path leading to imminent incineration, Jon-Tom

replied boldly. "I did not lie to you, Falameezar. This is a commune-to-be, and

most of the population are workers."

"It means naught if they willingly condone the system which exploits them."

"How much choice does an oppressed worker have, comrade? It is easy to speak of

revolution when you're twenty times bigger than anyone else and can spit fire

and destruction. You expect an awful lot of some poor worker with a family to

take care of. You don't have those kinds of responsibilities, do you?"

"No, but..."

"Then don't condemn some poor bear for protecting his family. You're asking them

to sacrifice cubs and children. And besides, they don't have your education.

You're expecting revolutionary sophistication from uneducated workers. Shouldn't

you try and educate them first? Then if they reject the True Path and continue

to accept the capitalistic evils they live with, then it will be time for

cleansing."

And by that time, he thought hopefully, we'll be safely away from Polastrindu.

"They still willingly countenance an antibourgeois life," said Falameezar

grumblingly, but with less certainty.

Meanwhile Jon-Tom was still furiously trying to recall an anti-dragon song. He

didn't know any. "Puff the Magic Dragon" was pleasant but hardly restrictive.

Think, man, think!

But he had no time to think of songs. He was too busy trying to tie the dragon's

tale into semantic knots.

"But would it not be best for all concerned if a warning was to be given?"

Falameezar's head rose high against the glowing night. "Yes, a warning! Burn out

the evil influences so that the new order can be installed. Down with the

exploiting industries and the factories of the capitalists! Build the commune

anew, beneath the banner of true socialism."

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Jon-Tom took a worried step backward.

"You'll destroy the homes of the innocent, ignorant workers."

"It will be good for them," Falameezar replied firmly. "They will have to

rebuild their homes with their own hands, cooperatively, instead of living in

those owned by landlords and the bosses. Yes, the people must have the

opportunity to begin afresh." He turned his attention speculatively to the

nearest multistoried building, considering how most efficiently to commence

"cleansing" it.

"But they already hate their bosses." Jon-Tom ran parallel to the loping dragon.

"There's no reason to put them out in the rain and cold. What's needed here now

isn't violence but a sound revolutionary dialectic!"

Falameezar's claws scraped on the cobblestones like the wheels of a vast engine.

"Remember the workers!" He shook his fist at the unresponsive dragon. "Consider

their ignorance and their personal plights." Then, without thinking, his fingers

were flying over the duar, the necessary words and music having come to him

abruptly and unbidden.

"Arise ye pris'ners of starvation!

Arise, ye wretched of the Earth.

For justice thunders condemnation, a better world in birth.

No more tradition's chains shall bind us.

Arise, you slaves, no more in thrall!"

At the first stirring words of the "Internationale," Falameezar halted as if

shot. Slowly his head swung around and down to stare blankly at Jon-Tom.

"Watch 'im, mate!" sounded the faint voice of Mudge. Similar warnings came from

Caz and Flor, Talea and Pog.

But the dragon was utterly mesmerized. His ears remained cocked attentively

forward as the singer's voice rose and fell.

Finally the anthem was at an end. As Jon-Tom's fingers trailed a last time over

the duar's strings, Falameezar slowly emerged from his stupor, nodding slowly.

"Yes, you are right, comrade. I will do what you say. For a moment I forgot what

is truly important. Compassion was lost in my desire to establish proper dogma

among the proletariat. I had forgotten the more important task before us in my

rage at petty injustice." His head drooped low.

"I lost control of myself, and I apologize for the damage."

Jon-Tom whirled and frantically waved his arms, shouting the all-clear.

Immediately the wagons of the Polastrindu fire brigade trundled forward,

trailing hoses like brown slugtracks. Hands and paws were laid to pumps, and

water was soon attacking the burning barracks. Thicker dark smoke filled the sky

as the flames were pushed back and hot embers sizzled.

"I shall cause no more trouble," said the downcast dragon. "I will not forget

again." Then the great lean skull turned to one side, and a crimson eye locked

on Jon-Tom. "But before long we will make revolutionary progress here, and the

bosses will be thrown out."

Jon-Tom nodded rapidly. "Of course. Remember that first we have to defeat the

most repressive, most brutal bosses of all."

"I will remember." Falameezar sighed and a puff of smoke emerged from his mouth.

Jon-Tom winced instinctively, but there was no flame. "We will strike to protect

the workers." He curled up like a great cat, laid his head across his right

foreleg.

"I'm very tired now. I leave the night in your hands, Comrade." With that he

closed his eyes, oblivious to the activity and smoke and yelling all around him,

and went peacefully to sleep.

"Thank you, Comrade Falameezar." Jon-Tom turned away. He was starting to shiver

now, recalling the feel of heat on his face and the fury in the dragon's gaze

when he'd first confronted him.

His friends were cautiously running to him. Their expressions were a mixture of

relief and awe.

"What in hell did you sing?... What spell did you use?... How did you do it?"

were some of the amazed comments.

"I don't know, I'm not sure. The words just came to me. Old studies that stick,"

he muttered as they walked back toward the city gate.

Clothahump was waiting there to greet him. The old turtle solemnly offered his