The Dragon Who Didn't Fly

by C. M. Barrett

  Someone knocked at the door. Her father, Johar, rose from his computer, where he’d been projecting grain yields for the harvest, and went to open it. Serazina followed him and saw a soldier.

  “Greetings, citizen,” the soldier said. “The acting Chief Healer, Romala Kyle, wishes to speak with you.”

  Fiola darted around the house, seeking specks of dust on the immaculate surfaces. “If only we’d known. The place is a shambles.”

  “Such matters are unimportant,” the soldier said. “The acting Chief Healer wishes to thank your heroic daughter on behalf of the Guardian.” He stepped aside, and a woman wearing the green uniform of a Healer entered.

  Her black hair was Etrenzian, but Tamaran curves shaped her caramel-colored face. Serazina thought of Berto and wished he were here.

  “Greetings, Citizen Clare,” the woman said. “May I enter?”

  “Of course,” Johar said. “Our house is honored.”

  “Honored,” Serazina repeated, trying to quell her terror.

  Romala Kyle smiled at her. “Tonight, the honor is mine.”

  “Come in, sit.” Johar indicated his chair.

  Fiola dashed in with a pot of lemongrass tea and assorted biscuits and set them on a table. “Forgive the inadequate offerings.”

  “Forgive my rudeness in not giving advance notice, but the Guardian stressed the necessity of conveying his gratitude at once. As my visit here will ease his mind, I lost no time.”

  She seated herself gracefully, smoothing out her tunic. “And, of course, Serazina, I extend to you my own gratitude. Your alertness and courage saved the nation from unimaginable disaster.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I just tackled him. Any citizen would have done the same.”

  “We’d like to believe that,” Romala said, “but not every citizen would have sensed the danger.”

  Serazina’s thoughts, scattered by panic, crashed into one another. To try to calm herself, she focused on Romala. Beneath the mask of politeness and sincerity seethed the urgent need for information that Serazina was determined not to give her.

  Use your mind, she told herself. “I’ve tried to remember, but the shock of what happened seems to have erased my memory.” She heard her voice tremble. “Forgive my emotion. I was frightened.”

  “Of course you were, and that makes your courage even more remarkable. The Guardian is deeply impressed.”

  “It was all an accident,” Serazina said.

  Romala Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly what it wasn’t. Because of national security issues, I can’t reveal the mysterious circumstances that surround this assassination attempt, but anything you can remember might be of enormous value in capturing the terrorists behind the attack. I hardly need say how vital this could be to the safety of the land. Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help to restore your memory.”

  “I hope so,” Serazina said, striving to put the utmost sincerity into her voice. “I only want to help.”

  “Of course. The Guardian wishes me to assure you that as soon as he’s permitted to leave the Healing Center, he’ll be visiting you. He’ll choose an appropriate way to honor you. In the meantime, he’s instructed me to give you what he calls a small token of his appreciation.”

  She opened a jewelry box. Inside it sat a ring with a bloodstone cabochon.

  Fiola caught her breath. “The blood of the desert.”

  Romala nodded. “The sacred stone of Etrenzia. This ring belonged to the Guardian’s maternal grandmother.”

  She handed the ring to Serazina and bowed. “Good night, citizens. I’ll leave you to your rest.”

  The door closed behind her, and the hummer roared off into the night.

  “Don’t let this visit go to your head,” Fiola said. “But a ring belonging to the Guardian’s grandmother, no point in pretending that it’s an ordinary trinket. Put it on.”

  Serazina slowly slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly. She hated it. It connected her to the Guardian in ways that frightened her. It was the signet ring of her doom, she was certain.

  “I’m very tired,” she told her parents. “I’m going to bed now.”

  In her room, she took off her tan student tunic and trousers and put on a white, shapeless nightgown. She took off the ring, but its removal did nothing to quiet her unease.

  They’ll know about me now. They’ll send me off to a rehabilitation camp. I’ll turn into one of those idiots who can barely gather the crops. Everything that’s me will be lost.

  Putting a pillow over her head, she cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Phileas, still confined to his bed, finished his breakfast, a tasteless gruel full of vitamins and amino acids good for the brain, and began reading Romala’s report. He hadn’t finished the first paragraph before his finger pressed the intercom to her office.

  “Chief Healer, are you currently busy?”

  “I’m always busy, Guardian, but I’d be pleased to speak with you. I was planning to come up in a little while.”

  “Sooner than that, if you would.”

  “Right away.”

  She arrived five minutes later. “You’re reading the report? Good, I had a few more thoughts about it when I woke up this morning.”

  “Splendid.” He paused, searching for the most reasonable words with which to express displeasure. “So far, I’ve been more than pleased by our new working relationship. You’re doing a splendid job as Chief Healer. Any suggestions I have are solely for the purpose of the greater good.”

  She gave him a hard look. “What didn’t you like about the report?”

  So much for tact. “I was unable to read after the first few sentences. ‘Serazina Clare resembles a gazelle.’ What is that intended to mean? Does she have horns and a tail? Does she dart through the Etrenzian sands?”

  “No, it means she is slender and graceful and she looks as if the slightest sound would make her dart away, if not through the Etrenzian sands. She is, as I note further along, principally Etrenzian in facial and body structure, although her skin and hair are lighter because of her Dolocairner heritage.”

  “In the future, I would like your reports to be a little less colorful. Vivid imagery stirs up emotion and weakens logic, and I hardly need to tell you how difficult that makes a clear judgment.”

  He skipped the rest of the gazelle paragraph. “‘Her father is of classic Dolocairner appearance: tall, muscular, and broad-shouldered. His face is reddened from hours spent in the field, his hair nearly white for the same reason. He greeted me correctly, but said nothing once I was seated. (I note that my visit was very short.)

  “‘His wife may have been equally nervous, but she produced a perfect pot of lemongrass tea and some excellent biscuits.’ Excellent biscuits?”

  “Sesame, very crisp, not laden with fat, as Dolocairner biscuits would be. Guardian, keen observation is part of a Healer’s work. I noticed all I could in order to discern what you would find important. For example, I was impressed by the immaculate state of the house—she apologized for the mess—and the precise, suitable hospitality. I view these as examples of mental mastery, especially in the face of an unexpected visitor of high status. It tells us that the girl has been raised in a disciplined manner.”

  “Hmm. Your point is well taken. Perhaps I’ll allow a little color. And the father?”

  “I found it difficult to evaluate his silence. Some men would have made certain I knew they had stature in their own realms. He clearly felt no need for that. Certainly he was polite, allowing me to say all that was necessary. However—and I didn’t think of this until the morning—when I was questioning his daughter, he seemed to become tense.”

  “That seems odd. Before we discuss the girl, did you have any other observations about the parents?”

  “I sensed . . . a distance between them, and though their politeness obscured this, a sadness. This is pure conjecture, but I suspect they married out of a passion t
hat died.”

  “As passions do; that is one of their great dangers. The wife probably experiences a deeper disappointment, having married a man of a race considered inferior. We may want to investigate further, but let’s turn now to the girl. I’ll read your notes.”

  He read for a few minutes. “She claims not to know how she sensed the assassin, and you don’t believe her.”

  “Not for a minute. She put on a show of confusion that might have fooled someone else.”

  “Chief Healer, I must apologize. Forced inactivity has clearly made me succumb to the emotions of impatience and irritability. I rescind all previous objections. Your powers of observation are superb. Now let’s go a little deeper into this situation. We had peace officers dispersed throughout the crowd, on the alert for agitators. We had Healers strategically located, searching for threatening emotions. One sat not far from this young woman. He noticed nothing. Could Serazina Clare, an untrained girl, have a power of sensing greater than that of a high-ranking professional?”

  He raised a finger. “That’s the first conundrum. Secondly, if this were the case, you’d imagine she’d want to tell the world about her talent. Our Healers are rightly esteemed for their mind mastery. Many young people dream of being eligible for their ranks. Why would she try to hide this ability? And why has no one in the school she attends discovered it?”

  “I can answer the last question,” Romala said. “My research revealed that the schools in Oasis West are the worst in the country. If a student’s ability isn’t practically screaming in a teacher’s face, as it was in the case of Serazina’s older sister, it won’t be discovered. The classes are too large, and the teachers too overloaded with work because of the general perception that it’s a waste of time to spend money and resources on young people who will end up in low-level jobs, anyway.”

  Phileas was aghast. “But this is wrong! Given the high concentration of Dolocairners in the countryside, these facts give new substance to the complaints of those like Wendly Icinger and Snurf Noswan. Good minds are going to waste there, and official neglect plants the seeds of rebellion and religion. Once the immediate situation is resolved, I intend to look into this. Now, back to the mystifying girl. Let me hear more of your thoughts.”

  “Mystifying is the right word. If she were the child of a field worker, one not taught to aspire to a position of respect, I might understand her diffidence, but her family is accomplished. Her father has risen far beyond the average Dolocairner, her mother’s work performance receives outstanding reviews, and her sister’s achievements are exemplary. As you point out, the facts indicate that Serazina’s sensing powers must be extraordinary. I find it interesting that she’s been disqualified as a possible mother of the Heir.”

  “That’s more than interesting; it’s alarming and probably another wrong to be laid at the door of the rural school system. How am I supposed to produce an heir if I’m not provided with eligible candidates? I want to meet her as soon as possible. When will I be released from this confinement?”

  Romala closed her eyes for a moment, and he felt her light probe. “Your wound is healing well, but, with all respect, your state of agitation about being confined is slowing down the recovery. Guardian, if there’s anything I can to do ease your concern that vital functions are being overlooked, it will be my pleasure.”

  She was a remarkable woman. “Are you sure you can? The duties of being Chief Healer are great.”

  “I’ve been a widow for two years. I can give my full attention to my work.”

  He remembered her husband, a pleasant and dull functionary, who’d worked for Kermit in the budgetary department. “I accept your offer of assistance with gratitude. We’ll be working together closely during the coming months. I wish I could formally designate you Chief Healer, but I fear it would cause an outcry from the growing membership of my mother’s fan club.”

  “Of course, Guardian.” Romala bit her lip. “To be honest, I’d been doing most of that job for months. As it must have been obvious to you when you entered her mind, Janzi had been slipping, and I’d been wrestling with my conscience about whether to approach you.”

  He nodded. “In no way consider this a criticism, but from now on, if you notice the smallest thing amiss, report it at once.”

  “I do blame myself—”

  He resisted her sour tide of remorse. “Control yourself, Chief Healer. Your intention was to preserve the dignity of a citizen who had served Oasis well for many years. No doubt you hoped that she would choose retirement. You could never have predicted that she would go over the edge and imagine that she’d discovered Zena’s last testament.”

  “Thank you, Guardian.”

  “I take my own share of responsibility. She was my mother; I should have known, but we weren’t close. Like all Guardians in training, I went to my father as soon as my gift was discovered. He encouraged me to sever any emotional bonds to Janzi, and I obeyed, as was correct, altogether correct.”

  “Sometimes I wonder, Guardian,” Romala said, her black eyes fierce. “I think we go too far.”

  “Most women tend to think that way. That’s why the Guardian has always been and must always be male.” He wondered why his words sounded so hollow. They were no more than the truth.

  And the truth was what mattered. “My mother, a logical woman, accepted her duty. She helped to maintain a relationship with me that was distant and wholly professional. Her presence of mind was great enough, even when she began to fail, to conceal her decline from me. Therefore, guilt is an emotion unworthy of me or of you. However, the subject does bring up a question: what has been done to tighten security in the House of Healing? Given that the Earthers seem to be the principal beneficiaries of her escape, I suspect that they have a network there. They could arrange to release other patients.”

  “No worker enters any floor now without first reporting to the main employee office for a key card, which must be surrendered at the end of each shift. The codes are changed daily. I should have instituted that procedure sooner. I’m sorry—”

  “I’ve made it clear that I forbid remorse. To remain in the past reflects sentiment of the lowest kind. We have plenty to handle in the present. At this point Janzi is too much of a hero for us to tuck her back into a mental ward. I’d settle for the opportunity to reason with her and find out the truth about this damned testament.”

  He grimaced. “Now I’m sorry. We must be vigilant about the temptation to let emotion triumph in these dangerous times.”

  “Yes, Guardian.”

  “And one more thing. Formal titles have their place, but in a situation such as ours, I will permit you to call me by my first name and do the same with you.”

  “Thank you, Guardian—Phileas.” The smallest curve of a smile brightened her face.

  He tried not to notice.

  * * *

  Serazina and Berto sat by the pond, watching the kitten chase a grasshopper. “I wonder where she came from,” Serazina said. “She’s so little. Do you think something happened to her mother? And what about her litter mates?”

  She wanted to cry when she thought about the possibility of tragedy in the kitten’s history. Poor little thing. She didn’t look as if she were grieving, but she was probably an orphan, with only Fiola’s tentative permission keeping her safe from the filth and danger of some alley.

  “I think you go out of your way to make yourself miserable,” Berto said. “I may not be the emotionally resonant person you are, but I can see that this is a perfectly happy creature—unlike yourself.”

  “I don’t think I like what you’re saying.”

  “Most of the time I love how deeply you feel, but I like it best when you’re happy and share the wealth. Unfortunately, you’d rather feel badly than feel nothing. You see a contented, lively kitten and imagine a starving waif. Why not see what’s there and enjoy it?”

  The kitten stopped pursuing the insect and looked at him. She padded toward the bench and jumped into
his lap.

  “See? She’s agreeing with me.”

  “She doesn’t understand what we’re saying.”

  The kitten hissed softly, and Berto laughed. “I’ve always wondered about that. Isn’t it convenient for humans to say they’re the only thinking animals—that is, on those rare occasions when they admit they’re animals at all? Animals can learn, so they must be able to think. How did this kitten know to line up dead mice to impress your mother? There’s more to this little beast than we know.”

  Purrs filled the air.

  “And they must be able to communicate with each other,” Berto said.

  Serazina frowned. “The scientists have done tests.”

  “The scientists you love so much, the ones you’re desperate to escape? Those tests are designed to prove that base animal sensations interfere with higher intelligence.”

  “You’re right, but now you’re the one stirring up depressing emotions.”

  “It’s too easy to do in this place. I was thinking about painting before I came over. If I study art here, I may learn something about technique, but it’ll be like squeezing dry paint out of a tube. Maybe I’m not quite the waterfall you are, but I do like a touch of passion in a painting. I like colors that sing, and I don’t intend to turn out industrial gray abstracts of rectangles and triangles that are supposed to be representations of Mind. If I could sell a few more paintings, I’d be on my way.”

  “Berto, I wish we could leave tomorrow. When you first brought it up, I was never sure I’d be happy in a city. Now that I’ve been stupid enough to attract the Guardian’s attention, I have no choice. And there’s something else I have to tell you. I helped the Chief Healer escape.”

  His eyes lit up. “How?”

  “She got into my laundry cart, and I took her to the basement. She escaped through an exit.”

  “But that’s wonderful. You may have helped to change the history of Oasis.”

  “It won’t be wonderful if anyone finds out.”

  “You’re right, only you, I, and Janzi Nor’azzi know.”