Dragon's Capture

by Miranda Martin

  “Good. Thank you,” I say, not rising from the small table I’m sitting at.

  An empty ache gnaws at me from my core. I should have been ready. I didn’t think Gershom could move so fast.

  Visidion sits down across the small table, his eyes boring into me, reading everything that I hide away from the world—or at least making me feel like he is. I can’t let him see my pain. No one can see it.

  My hand resting on the table trembles—damn it! The disease is still attacking, merciless in its assault. Pulling the hand off the table, I place it in my lap to hide it. A weakness I won’t share with anyone.

  “Well,” Visidion says at last, giving no indication if he saw the tremble.

  “Yes, well,” I agree, sighing.

  “I did warn you,” he says.

  The hairs on back of my neck rise as I grit my teeth. That’s not what I want to hear right now.

  “Yes, yes you did,” I snap. “Congratulations.”

  “You kept a snake in your midst!” he snaps back.

  “You don’t see the bigger picture!” I yell.

  “What does the bigger picture matter if you lose it all to what’s happening today?” he asks, his fists balling on the table as he leans in.

  “I’m looking at our long-term survival.”

  “Survival of what? A xenophobic culture that would see my entire race destroyed?”

  “That’s not what it’s about!”

  “Oh? Isn’t it? I’ve heard the stories, and what’s more, I’ve seen the results of Gershom’s actions. He inspires hate in people. Plays on their fears. You were stupid to let him remain.”

  “Stupid?” I growl, rising to my feet and leaning over the table, fists resting on it.

  “No, that’s not what I mean—”

  “Isn’t it?” I cut him off. “You said the word.”

  We’re close now, inches apart. Anger pounds through my veins but the scent of him, exotic with a hint of cocoa, fills my nostrils. Even through my anger it’s enticing.

  “Rosalind, I’m sorry,” he says, apologizing without retreating. “That is not what I mean.”

  “Then explain to me,” I say. “What do you mean?”

  “You could have been hurt,” he says. “Or worse.”

  The words fall between us as if weighted by a thousand pounds. Almost I can hear them crash into the silence that falls in their wake. His swirling green eyes piercing into my soul tell the truth. I see his fear, as clear as if it was a display of neon lights flashing in the night. My throat is dry, too dry to answer him. My lips tremble with anticipation and growing desire.

  “You care,” I state.

  He remains silent, staring. Pain in my chest from my heart beating too hard. He moves closer, slowly, judging my reaction, as slowly as if he moved through thick liquid. Warm breath breezes across my skin. A citrus scent combined with the cocoa. I’m moving closer, being pulled in by the gravity of him. My mouth is dry, almost there, our lips just start to touch.

  “NO!!!!!”

  We both fall back onto our stools as the sound of pain and anguish cuts through the moment, ripping us apart.

  “What now?” he barks, rising to his feet and whirling. Visidion storms out the door.

  I follow. Fool that I am, falling for this man. What time do I have for such concerns? Stupid, girlish dreams. I am Lady-General, and my sworn duty is to safeguard the future of mankind.

  Or it was.

  On the ship, before Tajss, before Gershom. Is it now? To whom do I owe such allegiance now?

  Doubt swirls through my thoughts, assaulting the rock that is my certainty. Pushing it aside, I step past the flapping skin door-cover just behind Visidion. Below us is a gathering of Zmaj and humans, standing in a loose circle in the open central area of the Tribe’s home. A smaller Zmaj, Samil, cowers before a much bigger one who is beating him mercilessly. Samil’s pain- and anguish-laden screams are the sound we heard.

  Visidion rushes down the ramp to the ground. I catch up with him in a few long strides so that we arrive at the circle together. No one is stopping the spectacle. How can they be so callous?

  “Steal from me again, will you?” the larger Zmaj roars, kicking Samil.

  I recognize the larger Zmaj now that I’m closer as Padraig, the blacksmith of the Tribe. Samil is curled into a ball, trying to protect himself as the kicks rain in. Visidion steps past the clearing, and I move to stand next to him, expecting him to stop this insanity, but instead he crosses his arms and watches.

  “Stop this,” I say.

  Visidion looks over, arching an eye ridge.

  “Why would I do that?” he asks.

  “Because he’s small and weak! He can’t defend himself!”

  “He should not have stolen,” Visidion says.

  “This isn’t the way to handle a problem,” I say.

  Samil’s pitiful cries cut through me, a chilling ache that strikes into my bones. Visidion shrugs. Rage roars to life in me. One thing I’ve never stood for is bullies.

  “If you won’t stop this, I will,” I hiss.

  “It is our way,” he says, shrugging.

  My pulse pounds in my head and then the calm comes. The calm that has never failed me.

  “It is not mine,” I say, nodding sharply.

  Stepping forward, I touch Padraig’s shoulder just as he raises his arm to strike Samil again. He stops, looking over his shoulder, his eyes wide in surprise at seeing me.

  “Enough,” I say.

  “He hasn’t learned his lesson yet,” he hisses. “This does not concern you.”

  The crowd around us falls silent. A warm gentle breeze blows, tugging at the white cape on my suit. Padraig turns, putting his attention back on Samil. His muscles flex under my fingertips as he moves to strike again. Quickly I pull my hand back two inches, then with fingers pressed together tightly, I jab into the muscles where his shoulder connects with his torso. His arm drops to his side halfway through his swing, suddenly lifeless.

  He roars his rage, the sound of his deep bass voice echoing back to us from the stone walls of the cliff. The crowd gasps as one, an intake of breath loud enough to be heard over his voice.

  As he spins on his heel, I’m forced to leap back and away to avoid his tail sweeping my legs out. Landing in a crouch, one hand resting gently on the sand, a slow smile spreads across my face as I meet his gaze. The cold calm embraces me. I’ve missed this.

  Padraig’s wings spread out behind him, his tail rises to stand straight, but his right arm hangs limp at his side. He raises the left, pointing accusingly at me. He looks like he’s trying to say something but it comes out as a hiss.

  “I said it was enough,” I say, straightening.

  He swings, a clumsy maneuver I duck under, dancing to the side. Rising, I lean forward, enticing him on. He takes the bait, swinging wildly with his one good arm. I duck and slam my left knee into his solar plexus for good measure. He doubles over as the air rushes out of him. The crowd responds with a gasp. Padraig stumbles forward, his one good arm sweeping back and forth, trying to grab me while he struggles to inhale.

  A human would be down from that attack. The Zmaj scales offer him protection that a man would not have. His tail swings around at the exact wrong moment, forcing me to leap to avoid it—but that puts me in reach of his swinging arm.

  His arm knocks into me while I’m in the air. My left side goes numb from the blow as I tumble through the air to the right. I struggle to inhale as I fly, then hit the ground so hard I bounce. It’s surprising how hard the sand is. It puffs up, getting into my eyes. Padraig roars as he charges towards me. His steps are so powerful that the sand vibrates against my face.

  I let him get closer, not moving, wanting him to believe I’m wounded. When his legs come into view, I move. I leap to my feet. Padraig stumbles back in surprise. I don’t allow him any breathing room, striking him fast on the sides of his neck with side-handed chops, then bringing my knee up between his legs. He raises his on
e good arm, trying to defend himself, but to no avail.

  As my knee connects with his groin he doubles over, bringing his chin into range. I slam my knee into his face, and at the same time I bring my elbow down on the base of his neck. One crack follows another and Padraig drops to the ground. The crowd gasps as he falls. Standing over my opponent I turn a slow circle, meeting the gaze of every person, judging their reaction.

  I've won respect from most of them, but the shock on their faces is obvious. No one expected a human female to best Padraig.

  Kneeling next to Samil I inspect him for any obvious wounds, trying to ignore the pain in my side where Padraig connected. Samil looks up at me with pleading eyes. His weakness calls to me, demanding I protect him.

  I rise, then hold a hand out to Samil and help him to his feet. Visidion comes forward shaking his head.

  "This is not our way," he says, holding his hands out before him.

  "Then maybe it's time we find a new way," I reply, looking past him at all the crowd surrounding us. "The old ways will not take us forward."

  "The edicts!" Someone cries out.

  I square my shoulders and face all of those gathered.

  "The edicts are fine," I say. "But they don't embrace all of our reality. We need each other. Is that not one of your edicts? Do they not state we are stronger together? And yet this is how you show it?" I motion towards Samil on his knees next to me. "Taking advantage of those weaker than you?"

  "Only the strong survive," Ragnar says, stepping from the crowd.

  "Only the strong survive?" I ask meeting his glare. "To what end? Why do the strong survive?"

  "To survive! What other point is there?" Ragnar asks.

  "Exactly," I reply, turning away from Ragnar, I lock eyes with Visidion. "Survival for survival’s sake is not living. What future did you have before we came? What purpose was there to your lives?"

  I see the doubts forming in Visidion's eyes. Murmurs run through the crowd as they absorb my words.

  "What are you saying, Rosalind?" Visidion asked.

  A cold chill runs down my spine as I stare at Visidion. A turning point opens before me. In one of those rare moments of life, I know everything hangs on this moment. Doubt assails me, but I can't let it control me.

  "I'm saying we have to find a new way," I say.

  "The Edicts are our law," Visidion says, shaking his head. "They are immutable."

  "Nothing is unchangeable," I say.

  The crowd watches the two of us quietly. Slowly they seem to be shifting, dividing back into the two groups, those from the City and the Tribe. This is exactly what I hope to avoid. We can't be divided again. If I've learned nothing from Gershom, it's that. His divisive tactics have landed me here.

  "Bold words, Rosalind," Visidion says. "Especially for someone who has been kicked out of her own city."

  My guts tighten at his words, and a shudder runs down my spine. Anger rises, but like any emotion, I push it aside. It has no place in these negotiations. What I'm doing is too important.

  Ladon steps out of the crowd and comes to stand beside me. He crosses his arms over his chest glaring at Visidion. Padraig stirs on the ground beside us.

  "Right," I say, nodding agreement. "We can all learn lessons, valuable ones. Nothing is set in stone."

  Visidion looks angry, but nods as his wings rustle and his tail lashes. He purses his lips.

  "Perhaps,” he says, turning to face the crowd. "This is over. Go about your day, there is much to do."

  8

  Visidion

  The crowd disperses slowly. Long lingering looks before they go make it obvious they would prefer to stay. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch and wait. When at last we are standing alone, I return my attention to Rosalind. Ladon stands next to her, silent, a brooding presence.

  "You push too far," I say.

  "Do I?" Rosalind asks, arching an eyebrow. "I would argue I don't push far enough."

  "The Edicts define who we are," I answer her.

  "Yes, they do," she says. "They also limit you."

  The red rage of the bijass rises, threatening to claim my thoughts. I won't let it. I am myself.

  Ladon’s soft hiss cuts through my internal struggle. Locking eyes with him, I shake my head. Frustration grows from the anger. I make a slashing motion with my hand, cutting off the conversation and turn away. I head towards my quarters. Let them do as they will.

  As I make my way up the ramp, I hear Rosalind’s soft footsteps behind me. Consumed with the effort of fighting off the rage, I don't acknowledge her. When I reach the leather covers that serves as my door, I step aside and hold it open for her. She meets my eyes before entering, and no matter how I try to harden my heart, it softens. I cannot remain angry at her.

  I step in behind her, offer her a chair and refreshment, then take a seat across from her. She sips the small cup of water and sets it down on the table with soft clink.

  "It is not easy for us to change," I say by way of opening.

  "Nothing before us is going to be easy," Rosalind says, staring at the table between us.

  One hand grips the cup, and the other rests on the table. I see the free hand tremble. She balls it into a fist and pulls away.

  "I'm not saying you're wrong," I say, changing tactics. "But nothing is more important to me than the good of the tribe. I have sacrificed everything to bring these few survivors together."

  "Then why can't you see we need everybody," she says, a pleading note in her voice as her eyes lock with mine.

  "If we allow weakness to breed, if we allow those who would undermine us to remain, we don't come out stronger. You let Gershom continue, knowing full well he was working against you."

  "Yes," she says shaking her head. "I underestimated him."

  "I tried to warn you," I say, and my gut knots. The last thing in the world I want to say is some version of I told you so. Still, if only she had listened to me, none of this would've happened.

  "So you did," she says. "It doesn't change the fact that I need him. More than that, I need his followers. That's neither here nor there. Why did you not stop Padraig from beating on Samil?"

  "That is not our way," I reply, shrugging.

  "How can it not be? Is not the second edict 'together we are stronger'?"

  "And three is, survival of the group matters," I respond.

  "I don't understand how that addresses my question," she says.

  "For the group to survive we have to be strong," I explain. "The edicts work together, interchanging with each other, they are the guiding rules by which we judge everything."

  "I get that," Rosalind says, her jaw tightening in frustration. "Do not speak to me as if I'm a child."

  "Rosalind, I'm not," I say, my heart pounding in my chest. As if of its own free will my hand covers hers. The small, balled fist of her hand is engulfed in mine, but all I can feel is the softness of her skin. "I would never treat you that way."

  "Good," she says. "Then answer my question. How can you stand by and let someone like Samil take a beating like that. Where's your heart? Where is your sense of honor?"

  "Because we sacrifice everything for the group," I say, anger rising, threatening to take control. "Nothing else matters. No one person is greater than the need of the group."

  "What good is a group that sacrifices those who needed support?" She asks, her voice soft, her eyes imploring mine. "He needed you. He needed someone stronger than him."

  "That is the difference between us, Rosalind," I say. "Sometimes we have to sacrifice the weak to ensure the safety and the future of the strong."

  "I cannot agree to that," Rosalind says, shaking her head. "We have to be better than that. The society we create has to be one I can be proud of."

  My scales tingle listening to her words, she speaks softly, but her voice is filled with her passion. My hearts beat faster, my hand tightens on hers, as I search for words to say.

  There's a noise outside my door, and the ski
n is pulled aside. Ladon storms in followed closely by Sverre. Ragnar trails in behind them. Rising, I turn to face the newcomers.

  "What is the meaning of this," I say, aggression rising.

  "Has he told you?" Ladon asks, looking past me at Rosalind.

  Sverre stands next to him, calmer than Ladon, but I can see in the tint of his scales that he is angry as well. Ragnar stands to one side, keeping a few feet between him and the other two. I turn my attention to him.

  What is the meaning of this, Ragnar?" I ask.

  Rosalind rises to her feet and comes to stand next to me. She has her hands on her hips as she looks between Ladon and me.

  "Told me what?" she asks.

  "Zzlo," Ladon says, making a slashing motion with his hand across the air between us before pointing at me accusingly.

  "What about the Zzlo?" Rosalind asks.

  "Ragnar and the hunters found their base," Ladon says. "They know where they are."

  "Is that true?" Rosalind asks.

  The weight of everything falls on my shoulders again. I hold up my hands palms out towards her.

  "The information was just brought to me," I say.

  "Are there survivors there?" Rosalind asks. Her voice sounds strange, but she’s speaking softly.

  "I don't know," I say.

  "What do we know?" she asks.

  "Too little right now," I say. "We only just found out right before you came back."

  "Right," she nods. "Tell me what is known then, and let's go from there."

  "We know the location," I say. "Nothing else yet."

  "I saw their spaceship taking off," Ragnar adds. "It's obvious that they are shipping prisoners off world."

  "What does that have to do with us?" Ladon asks.

  "Because they took the other survivors," Rosalind says, whirling towards him in a rare display of anger.

  "It's a tragedy," Sverre says. "That doesn't change the question though. If they've already shipped them off world, there is nothing we can do."

  Rosalind looks the men over before turning and locking eyes with me. I can see the wheels turning in her mind. I know, before she says it, what she's thinking. The only question is what I do with it. I look at all the possibilities, trying to decide—what is the greatest good for the Tribe?