The Dragon Who Didn't Fly

by C. M. Barrett

  Druid twisted out of Dragonlord’s arms and fluttered to the ground. “And must I accept my destiny?”

  Dragonlady tugged at her mate’s mane. “He’s right, of course. He must choose.”

  Dragonlord lowered his head to meet his son’s eyes. “We have sung to you of the balance and harmony of all life. You know that water dragons are sworn to protect this. We guard the Mother’s tears that fall on the earth and make it alive. When the earth is dry, we water it with our tears.

  “And we have sung to you of sorrow, of the time when the harmony of the world will be threatened by those who walk upright among us, the ones who have lost their way. When that day comes, the Mother will need a dragon to do Her will. You are that dragon. If you refuse your destiny, we will all suffer for it. Choose, then.”

  “You call that a choice?”

  Druid’s parents spent an entire day trying to reconcile their son to his future.

  “It isn’t so bad,” Dragonlord said. “So many animals here will love you.”

  “They will love me, but they will die in what seems like a minute of my time; I will spend my life mourning.”

  “In our history, dragons will sing of you,” Dragonlady said.

  “But not to me,” Druid sobbed. “Think of me when you’re off soaring in the sky; think of your small son, shivering in a cold cave and longing for his parents.”

  “He is a true water dragon,” Dragonlord whispered. “He could make even humans weep.”

  “Pray that he does.”

  Druid’s father buried his head in his son’s mane and watered it with his tears. Dragonlady, too, wept as she stroked Druid’s scales.

  Druid’s grief was powerful but that of his parents was overwhelming. No water dragon could withstand such an emotional assault. Soon he sobbed with them and made promises beyond the counting. His parents hugged him, whispering that they would see him again. He refused to watch them leave, but he heard the flapping of wings. When he looked up, the sky was empty.

  Druid crouched on the sand for hours, his wings heavy at his side. If he couldn’t use them to fly with his parents, they had no purpose. To soar in the empty sky would make him even lonelier than he was. He decided that he would never fly again.

  Druid’s parents had been gone for four-hundred-and-fifty-years, eight months, and twenty-four days. He’d long since stopped hoping that they would return.

  “Hey, Druid, why so melancholy?” Gris, a red-tailed hawk, came flying to the cave entrance and perched on Druid’s shoulders. “I’ve got a scoop for you about activity in the forest. That’s not usually your beat, but I’ve been following the situation, and I’m starting to think I’m looking at a big picture.”

  “I could use a big picture. Tell me.”

  “First item, some cats have moved into the woods. Three of them are no alley cats. They talk like their mouths are full of cream. Two others come from the city. One is old, the other young. They settled down, observed the rituals, and since the mouse population is booming this year, no problem with competition. So far, an odd combo but not newsworthy.

  “I knew that sooner or later they’d make contact, and about six weeks ago, one of the cream-eaters, a snippy black number, came to my nest. She made the Missus nervous because of the fledglings, but Blackie made it clear she was stalking business, not food. She said very politely that some kittens were going to be born, and would my friends and I mind not killing them? No feathers off my neck because meat-eaters never have the flavor I like. It takes a nice, grain-fed mouse to hit the spot. It was an offbeat request, though.”

  Druid was beginning to get a headache. Gris made even chatty Tolti seem like a mute. “Yes, unusual.”

  “Since my job is to gather and spread news, I asked why. She said these weren’t just any kittens; they were from a royal line of cats. I laughed so hard I nearly fell off the branch. Every cat will tell you they’re descended from some royal or holy or otherwise worshipped line of cats, not an ordinary stray among them.

  “But I played along, hoping she’d spill some more. I said I was cool, but I might have to explain a little more to some of my friends. She said she couldn’t give me any forecasts, but she and her companions had come all the way across the mountains because of some prophecy about a kitten bringing the world back into balance. Too much catnip, said I to myself, but I decided to watch the story develop.”

  “And has it?” Druid hoped he’d hear about it quickly, because the smell of ocean kelp was beginning to drive him wild with hunger. No one should have to hear the shrieking of a hawk on an empty stomach.

  “You bet. Second item, one of the kittens, a female, is learning all about humans. And she’s a sharp little thing, asking bright questions, and, check this out, she’s having visions.”

  The scales on the back of Druid’s neck rippled. “Of what?”

  “Cat version of the Many-feathered One. She’s hooked into the Ultimate News Source. Any comment on that, Druid?”

  “No, I’ll need silence and meditation to think about it.”

  “Silence and meditation, what’s that? One more detail. Blackie came to me a few weeks ago and asked if I’d start a flight relay to the city on the other side of the mountains. She’s summoning more cats to the forest.”

  “And the message?”

  “To come as soon as possible, that the time is now.”

  “For what?”

  Gris shrugged. “ She didn’t say. You know how secretive cats are. It’s a real frustration to a news hawk like me.”

  What can it mean? Druid wondered after the hawk jabbered his way across the sky. A royal line of cats, a kitten who’s being trained for some purpose. Visions? Is this part of the change in the pattern? Was I wrong to assume it all meant bad news?

  It had been so long since he’d heard good news that it was hard to believe in it, but he was very curious about this kitten.

  * * *

  The more Tara learned about humans, the more confusing she found them.

  “I keep on forgetting what is ‘house,’ what is ‘train.’ I can’t imagine these things.”

  “Then we’ve had enough telling. It’s time to show you,” Orion said. “You need a trial visit to the human world, anyway.” He paused, his tail twitching. “Ah, no need to mention this to Emerald. We’ll slip away while she’s somewhere else.”

  Emerald was out hunting when they left the next morning. They reached the edge of the fields by the time the sun was high. For the first time, Tara saw and heard humans. The most dangerous animals who live, she thought and shivered. She heard the danger in their voices, emotions festering beneath a thick scab of thoughts, and whimpered.

  “I know,” Orion said. “What would be considered insanity among us is normal for them. These ones are fairly harmless. They’re hot, bored, and thinking about food. Some think about mating.”

  “Why not do these things instead of thinking about them?”

  “For food, they have to wait until the sun reaches a certain height. They can’t mate until they’re back in their homes. It’s not permitted under the sky.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “They are.”

  The humans moved about awkwardly. Some drove large machines that smelled awful. “Never get near one of those,” Orion said. “It would chew you up.”

  After a while, they came to a long trail of crushed stone, with smaller paths branching off from it. Odd structures stood at the end of each branch.

  “Those are houses,” Orion said, “some for humans, some for animals called horse and cow. Many of the horses try to rebel against their slavery, but give a cow a meadow of grass, and she’ll never complain until they take her young from her.”

  “Why are they taken?” Tara asked.

  “Humans want cows’ milk for themselves.” He pointed to a long, low house. “Chickens, large birds but smaller than turkeys, live there. Humans eat their eggs.”

  “A fox or raccoon will do that.”

 
“And do unless the humans kill them.”

  “Do they kill the slave animals for food?”

  “Rarely. According to their idea of mind, eating flesh dulls thought and intelligent action and encourages the lower senses.”

  “Then a grain-eating mouse should be too smart for me to catch it.”

  Orion nodded in approval. “You pounced on that idea perfectly. Lovers of logic though humans are, their prejudices defeat their purpose. If you don’t expect them to make sense, you’ll better understand them.”

  Orion began slinking along the bushes that bordered one side of the house. “You can get a closer look at how they live. The house is made of a material mixed with water that hardens. The holes are called windows. They’re covered with sand that’s heated until it becomes something called glass.”

  “Maybe they’re more clever than I think.”

  “What a cat couldn’t do with paws like theirs. But humans’ inventiveness follows a narrow trail. If they step off it, they get frightened.”

  Tara sniffed. “An animal’s inside that house. It smells a little like wolf but much worse.”

  “Dog. It smells worse because it lives intimately with the humans in that house. Some dogs, like humans, have forgotten that they are animals. When they forget, they can be very dangerous to a freedom- and life-loving cat.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Something in the wall of the house opened to form a hole through which the brown-furred dog ran. “Quick, up that tree, or you’ll find out what I mean,” Orion hissed. Tara scampered after him up a tall oak.

  The dog stood at its base and barked furiously until the side of the house opened again, and a human came outside, carrying a long black stick.

  “Did you tree a raccoon, Mongo?”

  “Tell him we’re not raccoons, Orion.”

  “He won’t understand us, and when humans hold those sticks, they’ll shoot anyone. Back around slowly so that the trunk protects you. When it’s safe, dash down the tree and hurry back to the forest.”

  “What about you?”

  Her father leapt off the branch onto the human’s head, clawing his face so that blood sprouted from his skin. The stick went off, and black smoke filled the air.

  Orion darted around the back of the house, the man in pursuit. “No!” Tara shrieked, forgetting about escape. “Help!”

  * * *

  Druid sat on the beach, the waves of the sea soothing him into a quiet state. Cats and kittens. The time has arrived. For what?

  For the first time in hundreds of years, She, that delinquent Great Mother of All, spoke to him, painting a picture of a small kitten with white paws and huge, golden eyes, now wide with terror as she cowered in a tree and cried for help. Nearby, a human and a growling, wolf-like animal chased a larger cat.

  Even if he were mad enough to venture into human territory, he’d never get there in time to save them, but the plaintive cry shivered through his heart, arousing pain and urgency.

  He balanced on his tail in order to better feel the currents of earth and allowed the kitten’s image to fill his heart until the urge to protect focused his spirit into a powerful jet that hurtled through space to the trouble spot.

  Damn, I’m still good at this, he thought when terror flooded the human’s heart. The two-legged one cowered and screamed, dropped his gun, and fled into his cave.

  Druid continued the transmission until he saw that both cats had fled to safety. Then, exhausted, he flopped on the sand and wondered what all that had been about.

  * * *

  For a moment, the sight of the huge green monster paralyzed Tara. Then she dashed down the tree and headed into the nearest patch of trees. Once she was sure no humans were around, she darted through the fields and into the woods. She panted and laid her head against the cool earth, clawing against the veil of shock that turned everything she saw hazy.

  Orion, belly low to the ground, crept through the tall grass. His eyes found her. Their warmth was like the sun dissolving a morning mist so that every color seemed alight with fire. Gold tipped the branches and blades of grass and filled the throats of birds, who streamed bright notes into the air.

  Tara’s fur tingled with joy. She pounced on Orion and purred.

  “Dear kitten, it’s good to be alive,” Orion said.

  “You could have died.” Waves of delayed terror drowned the light.

  “Not for the first time, although never for anything more important. I couldn’t lose you to the jaws of a mangy dog or the bullets of a human idiot.”

  “Emerald was right,” Tara cried. “How do you expect me to survive among them?”

  “Lean against me, small one,” Orion said.

  She ran to his side and buried her head in his chest, feeling comfort from his steady heartbeat.

  “We will know where you live in the village,” he said, “and the Mother won’t lead you to any place of danger.”

  “Then how did I end up nearly getting killed?”

  “It was my fault entirely. The Mother may guide us to certain places, but She expects us to use our heads when we get there. Emerald has been diligent in teaching you the dangers and escape routes of the forest. I should have prepared you in similar manner. Had I done so, you would have seen that the chicken house had a crawl space too narrow for the dog. I was headed there when the creature appeared. Nonetheless, I wasn’t careful enough. Emerald would have done a far better job.”

  Hearing Orion so penitent did a lot to ease the aftershock of terror. “She wouldn’t have taken me there in the first place.”

  Orion shifted so that his back was turned toward her. For several minutes she heard only the rasp of his tongue against fur. When he turned to face her again, his eyes were a dim bronze.

  “No, she wouldn’t have. She knows the difference between being brave and being foolhardy. Emerald is the bravest cat I know, and I believe you’ve inherited her courage. If I hadn’t told you to run—”

  “I would have fought.” Tara clawed the earth. “I would have jumped on that dog’s back and bit his neck and—”

  “I have a clear picture,” Orion said. “You would have risked your life to save me, and that answers some of my questions about this mission. You see, little one, until we began the Quest, I was a carefree cat. I sired countless litters and rarely gave a thought to them. This is normal tom behavior, and I loved being a normal tom.

  “I was angry when Bast and Sekhmet pulled me from the easy life, even though I’d been trained to know myself a cat of destiny. I wished destiny had been a little slower to step on my tail. Still, I was prepared to select the perfect mother for you kittens, sire you, hang around for a little while to see which of you would be Chosen, educate you, and leave.”

  “Leave the Quest?” Tara panicked.

  “Never that, but I thought I’d get involved in some other aspect: recruitment, organizing campaigns, coordinating various interest groups. Yet I’m still here. The moment I saw Emerald, I knew that I could never easily lope away from her. As I love her, so I love her kittens. Finally, teaching you and protecting you brings out qualities I didn’t know I had.”

  He lifted his eyes to the cloudless sky. “And I see how it may evolve. You need to learn that you can count on more cats than Emerald, perhaps even other beings in the future. My job is to be the bridge on which you journey to that awareness. Aside from that, you may still have a thing or two to learn from me.”

  Tara began to love Orion in new and comforting way, but she was afraid she didn’t deserve his tenderness. The sour human sweat, the reek of dog drool, and the bitter smoke from the black stick still burned her nostrils.

  “I’m not as brave as you think,” she said. “I don’t think I can be the Chosen.”

  He licked her vigorously. “Don’t let terror stalk you. Breathe again, slowly and deeply, from the tip of your tail to the tips of your whiskers.”

  Tara obeyed, and her heart began to slow down a little.

  “
And one more thing,” Orion said. “Never make a long-term decision when you’re deeply frightened or angry. Wait until your heart is quiet; wait until She speaks to you. Whether you can be the Chosen still remains to be seen, but your behavior today shows leadership as well as courage. Another cat might have been paralyzed by the sight of that big green creature.”

  “What was that? It frightened me as much as the human and dog until I realized it seemed almost like a dream. Didn’t its form seem to shimmer like light through fog?”

  “I noticed that, too. Here’s what I think. A very noisy hawk has told us that a swamp lies beyond the forest. We haven’t made contact with the animals in it yet, although we know some big cats live there. The hawk says a huge beast called a dragon is the Keeper of the swamp. The humans think the dragon is their enemy. Their fears are so fantastic that the cats in the village don’t believe any of them, especially since none of them has ever seen the dragon.”

  “I think we did. So did the human and dog.”

  “Yes, and that saved us. As to why he didn’t seem quite real, I don’t know enough about dragons to be sure, but I have an idea. First, a question. When you bat an ant around, what happens to the ants nearby?”

  It had nothing to do with dragons, but Tara had learned how tricky Orion could be with his questions. She closed her eyes to remember. “They all start running around, even though I didn’t touch them.”

  “That’s because the ant you did touch communicates fear. They’re not running from you; they’re running from a sense of danger. I’m guessing that the dragon is capable of transmitting fear deliberately and over great distances. If he embodies the humans’ greatest fear, it may be that the sensation of terror makes them think of this immense creature and imagine that they see him.”

  “But we saw him, too,” Tara said.

  “I think the human’s emotions were so strong and we were already so frightened that we were unusually receptive to what he ‘saw.’”

  “This dragon must be very powerful.”

  “Yes, and I find it interesting and promising that he responded to your cry for help. We may not know what the Quest is yet, but an animal that big is sure to be an asset. We must discuss this thoroughly with Bast and Sekhmet. Unfortunately, that’s going to blow my attempt at deception. There’s no way Emerald won’t find out. She’ll want to murder me.”