The Dragon Who Didn't Fly

by C. M. Barrett

  He’d been twelve, and Calmus had been training him for six years, long enough for Phileas to understand within the first few pages of reading the document why its existence had been kept a secret. Nathan, in his final death babble, had negated virtually all of the founding principles of Oasis.

  “Now that I will soon go into the great emptiness, the nothingness of being, I find it no more lonely than the life I’ve always lived. In the end, Mind gives no comfort at all. One might as well try to get a cozy night’s sleep on a mountain in Dolocairn.

  “Perhaps I can take some satisfaction in knowing that most of our people are clothed and fed. Maybe I might modestly congratulate myself for encouraging reason to triumph over base prejudice. The people of Oasis live far better lives than those in any of the other lands, but is it enough? How many hearts ache like mine? How many suffer in ways that can’t be eliminated by food and shelter? Have we attained prosperity, only to suffer the ultimate poverty?”

  Calmus found him weeping over the manuscript. “Poor Nathan,” Phileas sobbed. “What a tragedy.”

  Calmus snatched the pages from him. “Pay attention, for the reading of this document has been a critical test for all Guardians after Nathan’s son. You opened your mind, and that is excellent, but you failed to apply the indispensable rule that an open mind must never be an undiscriminating one. Worst of all, you allowed your emotions to override logical thoughts, to say nothing of facts.”

  He gave Phileas a kindly slap. “Don’t look so miserable; I failed the test, too. So did every Guardian before me. This text provides an indispensable lesson on the seductive nature of passion. Furthermore, we must always remember that the left side of Nathan’s brain was all but destroyed. These writings are living proof that the flooding of irrationality could topple even one of the greatest minds known to humanity. By reading it, you’ve learned that you must always keep distant from your feelings and never allow them to cloud your judgment.”

  Then he ordered his son to reread the memoirs; and this time Phileas recognized Nathan’s delusions.

  That day Calmus administered to him the most sacred and secret oath of the Speaker:

  I swear that I will always strive to keep my mind inviolate and immune to the temptations of base emotion.

  He had kept this oath. No one could say that he hadn’t been an entirely proper Guardian. He had done everything he knew how to do, and every day Oasis slid closer to destruction. It was treasonous, even for a Guardian, to say that the old ways didn’t work. They were part of Nathan’s heritage.

  But so was this heretical document.

  And if every Guardian had feared for his intellect after reading this, Zena must have been thrown into a frenzy. There was ample documentation that she’d recovered, but what if, with age and deterioration, a lonely old woman had allowed her husband’s last words to seduce her into questioning the principles she had forged? What if she had indeed written a last testament, a document perhaps even more inflammatory than Nathan’s final ravings, a manuscript whose location was known only to Phileas’s Earther-loving mother?

  Once, while climbing the mountains that separated Oasis from Dolocairn, Phileas had stood on a high, narrow ledge, buffeted by freezing winds. That well-remembered feeling of terror now surged through him.

  The sun, not satisfied with hurting his eyes, stabbed through his skull to trigger multiple sensations of pain in brandy-sodden brain cells.

  Phileas sat up. He had no memory of having gone to bed, and he’d apparently lacked the motor coordination to undress, for he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, wrinkled, filthy with country dust and aromatic with the reek of alcohol. He was about to try to raise his head when he remembered his dream.

  He and the girl stood in the swamp. “I brought you here to show you something,” she said and tore open her blouse. He averted his eyes, wondering how he had allowed himself to be alone with an emotionally and sexually depraved female. Women gushed out tears and blood that drowned reason.

  “Look at me,” she said, and the power in her voice hummed in his ears; he knew that hum from somewhere else. It forced him to look. Then he gagged, for what he saw was far more hideous than breasts. Her heart lay exposed, a misshapen mass bulging with blood, pounding in the rhythm of ritual Dolocairner music.

  The sound mesmerized him; he stood helpless while she tore open his cloak, beneath which an equally grotesque heart pulsated. “Open your heart,” she whispered, pulling him close to her, rubbing their hearts together. It was unendurable, and his heart burst, blood spurting out in flames.

  The tattoo of the shower against Phileas’s body cleared his mind of alcohol, bewilderment, and dreams. He reasoned that the previous night had disturbed him more than he’d realized, and reaching for the bottle had been a near-unforgivable mistake. Alcohol, though it promised the drowning of painful emotion, befuddled the brain so that secret passions and desires danced out of hiding like a tribe of savages fully armed to wreak havoc.

  Not, he assured himself, that he had any desire to rub chests with a teenaged girl. The dream had made that clear, had in a final moment of sanity, shown him the peril of allowing emotions free play.

  However, he realized, with a sickening lurch of his stomach, it meant something else. It reminded him that he hadn’t uncovered the mystery of the girl. However many times she’d denied it, she had a powerful mind. She would have to be re-tested for breeding suitability. If she passed the test, he would have no choice but to mate with that shy, frightened child who loved a brown-eyed artist. No wonder she feared Phileas.

  He lurched out of the shower to vomit.

  Purging restored him. He stepped beneath the shower again to wipe out the stench. He was all right now. If he mated with the girl, he would be kind. Afterwards, he would permit her to marry Berto Albregetti without the usual genetic tests. And he would do more for her.

  Whatever talent she had needed to be directed. No fields for her—and that would be a favor, for in that setting she would surely fall under the sway of the Earthers. Training and maturation could turn her into a useful citizen, but what occupation would suitably confine her vagrant emotions?

  He’d just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself when Romala burst into the bathroom, her breast heaving, her cheeks flushed, her hair disheveled.

  “Phileas, I knocked and knocked and called your name, and I was so concerned something might be wrong.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. But he wasn’t. He’d never realized how attractive Romala was, how shapely her curves, how soft her wide mouth. He desired her as he had never desired any member of the parade of young women who’d entered the mating chamber.

  And he saw, in scenes as clear as those of the pornography sold in the Bazaar, what desire would lead to: an emotional entanglement that would warp his abilities as Guardian. This could never be. He suppressed the incipient ache in his unruly heart.

  “Chief Healer,” he said deliberately. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind leaving the bathroom so I could dress?”

  Her flush deepened. She backed out, her eyes focused on the floor.

  He firmly closed the door and hastily donned his robe, hoping he wouldn’t have to deal with a babbled apology. When he entered his study, though, she was perfectly composed.

  “Did the interview go well?”

  He was grateful for her calm, and he didn’t want to be grateful to her. Last night he’d realized his indebtedness to her, and now he knew how to discharge it. He would give her the girl.

  “Upon reflection, I’ve decided Serazina should be admitted into the Healer training program,” he said. “Her mind lacks the strength it should have, because it’s weakened by emotion, but growing up, combined with the discipline of the healing curriculum, will guide her in the path of reason and logic. Her training will begin in the fall, and perhaps we’ll also discover that she’s suitable for breeding.”

  “She’s so young!”

  “She’ll be eighteen.�
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  He nearly winced at the force with which Romala clamped down on disturbing emotions.

  “You are wise,” she said.

  “In part, I’ve made my decision because I’ve had further evidence that the gifts of the youth of the countryside are passed over. Serazina has a young friend who also seems promising. I intend to use them as examples to inspire rural teachers to study their students more closely, and I am going to appoint a committee of Healers to go into those schools and see what other useful citizens in the making are being ignored.”

  He took a bracing draught of sassafras tea. “This girl will need strict training and discipline. If she is indulged and turns out badly, she’ll lose her chance. If you would be kind to her, be a bit cruel.”

  She recoiled, and then squared her shoulders. “I understand.”

  The woman had backbone. Serazina would be in good hands. He tried not to think about how Romala’s hands would feel on his traitorous body.

  * * *

  “I’ll have no lies from you,” Fiola said as she dished out the government gruel. It was lumpy, a sure indication of her mood. “Something happened to upset the Guardian last night. He left in a polite and proper manner, but you could have planted seeds in the furrows on his brow.”

  “It isn’t a question of lying. I don’t know what the Guardian saw when he went into my mind. Certainly, that’s for him to say.” Serazina wasn’t about to mention that the kitten had been present.

  Johar stirred his barley tea. “Your mother’s worried, and so am I.”

  They all turned at the sound of a car. Gruel glued Serazina’s throat shut.

  Johar rose, and went outside to meet the messenger. He returned, a letter in his hand. Fiola seized it and tore it open.

  “‘My dear Miss Clare,’” she read aloud. “After much consideration regarding the matter of your future service to Oasis, I have decided to place you among the Healers. Acting Chief Healer Romala Kyle, who believes you may have a special gift, has agreed to supervise your training, which will begin next fall. At that time you will take up residence in the House of Healing. You will also be re-examined as a potential breeder.

  “I hardly need tell you that this is a singular honor. In the future, should you make the most of your opportunities, you may become one of our country’s leading citizens. Please convey my congratulations to your parents for having produced not one but two outstanding daughters.”

  Fiola looked at the letter in disbelief. “No child from this village has ever been so honored. To be personally trained by the Chief Healer herself, a woman who works closely with the Guardian, and to possibly become the mother of the Heir. You could hardly be honored more greatly.”

  Johar jumped from his chair, his hands fists. “By becoming a brood mare for the Guardian, to be discarded if she fails to be suitable? How can you call that an honor?”

  “No girl who mates with the Guardian is dishonored,” Fiola said, her eyes coals. “It can all turn out very well. How I wished I’d been chosen.”

  Serazina looked at her mother in horror, seeing that she’d meant it. “How can you say that?”

  “Do you think I’d be here, in this backwater? I would have been honored. I might have had the Guardian’s child.”

  Johar stifled a sob and fled the house.

  “Even if you believe that, how can you say it in front of him?” Serazina said. “My father is a good man.”

  “I don’t argue that,” Fiola said, her mouth stiff, “and I once loved him passionately. That was the problem. Everything we’re taught about the destructive nature of passion is true. Learn by my example.”

  “I won’t,” Serazina said. “You disgust me. You don’t understand anything. I don’t want the Guardian crawling all over me. I don’t want to be the mother of the Heir or any child of the Guardian. I don’t want your idea of a good marriage and ‘honor.’ I want to marry Berto.”

  Serazina ran out of the house, looking for Berto, and saw him walking toward the village. “Berto!” she cried.

  He turned at the sound of her voice and ran to her, his arms open. She fell into them, sobbing.

  “The Guardian’s is going to have me re-examined for mating purposes.”

  “No!”

  They cried in each other’s arms until they realized their danger. “Come to my house,” Berto said. “My parents are at work.”

  The Albregetti house was traditional stucco, but it was painted a warm ivory, and inside flowers hung from the arched doorways. The fragrance of aromatic spices filled the kitchen.

  “Sit down,” Berto said. “I’ll make some chamomile tea. Tell me what happened.”

  “A note from the Guardian just came. He said that in September he’ll have me trained as a healer. That’s probably my reward for going to bed with him.” A fresh outburst of tears stung her eyes.

  Berto dropped the mug of tea he was holding. “Serazina, oh, Serazina.”

  He took her hand, and they went upstairs to his room. For a long time, they held each other, and Serazina whispered, “We have to go away now,” and Berto said, “Yes. Haven’t I said so?”

  They made love, and Serazina felt calmer, because she knew she wouldn’t let anyone take Berto from her. “When can we leave?” she asked him.

  “If you’re not being trained until September, we have some time.”

  “But we can’t wait until the last minute. I’m so afraid something terrible will happen. Berto, I won’t feel safe until we’re on our way.”

  “Neither will I, but the greatest danger would be if your mother worries about you running away. She might have you locked up for your own good. Here’s what I think you have to do. Go back to your house and tell her you’re sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Listen to me. Say you’ve had a chance to think about it, and you realize what a great honor mating with the Guardian will be.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can if it means your life, if it means our future. Can’t you?”

  Serazina returned to the house, where her mother was slamming dishes into the rack. “I apologize,” Serazina said, her head lowered so that she wouldn’t have to look at Fiola. “I was overwhelmed; I never expected such a thing. Today I’ll write a letter to the Guardian thanking him for the honor he’s given me.”

  Fiola nodded. “Very good. And I must apologize as well. Your father is a good man, and it now appears that we’ve raised two outstanding children to serve our country. To ask for more would be greed.”

  She bit her lip. “And perhaps I didn’t see the logic of your reaction. Any well-raised woman might cringe at the idea of mating with a stranger, in your case a much older stranger. But if you should be fortunate enough to give birth to the Heir, the service you would do to our country would be immeasurable.”

  “I understand, Mother,” Serazina said. “I need some time alone, though, to consider this with greater reason.”

  She walked down the road, alone, wondering how many times she would feel the pebbles and sand beneath her feet.

  No meadowlark’s morning song.

  No crescent moon hanging in an amethyst sky, no whisper of wind through tall grass. There would be noises and smells and people pushing each other in crowded streets. There would be an anonymous room.

  But there would be Berto. And no Guardian.

  * * *

  “Thank the Long-Whiskered One for that boy,” Tara said, “but we’ve got to move quickly. I’ve given up on trying to influence the Guardian. He saw my visions, but as soon as he got home he must have wiped them out of his mind.”

  “Calm down, no one’s blaming you. You outdid yourself last night. It’s not your fault if the man couldn’t handle the visions, and I don’t think he was able to wipe them out completely. You placed some of them, in a sly, catlike fashion, where he can’t find them. He has some disturbing nights ahead of him.”

  “But so does Serazina.” The full impact of what she’d done crumbled Tara’s pri
de. “Orion, I failed. Instead of making Serazina less interesting to the Guardian, the visions I introduced made her more intriguing. He’d never think a cat had that power, so he attributes it to her. He may try to go into her mind again and again until he learns the truth. He wants to see if she’s suitable to be the mother of the Heir. I’ve put her in greater peril.”

  “Tara, I honor you for your willingness to admit failure,” Orion said. “It shows more maturity that I thought you had. I agree that on the surface the results may look like failure, but sometimes the Mother stalks different prey. Perhaps it’s important for Serazina to come to the Guardian’s attention. He may play a vital role in what unfolds. Surely a vision which challenges his hatred of the dragon has value, as does any idea that upsets his certainty that he knows the truth. I have no sense of wrongness in this.”

  “I hope not,” Tara said, “and I will try to trust.”

  He placed a paw on hers. “But you’re right that we must be alert about protecting the girl. And the matter of time is critical. That brings me to another point. Do you remember when you said we would need many cats here?”

  “The Long-whiskered One said it,” Tara said. “I didn’t understand why.”

  “No one did, but I begin to. Between guarding you and keeping our ears open to what goes on in the village, our resources are stretched. Now, I’m convinced that we also need cats to trail the girl’s father. And what of the Guardian and the Chief Healer? Their thoughts and activities also need to be monitored. The assignment is perfect for Sekhmet, but she can’t work alone, and if we position her in the city, we need messengers to coordinate our respective activities. In short, we need many more cats on location, and we need to be assured of their loyalty.”

  “Village cats?” Tara suggested.

  “They observe us with interest, but they see little reason to get involved. I’ll return to that subject in a few minutes. For now, our best hope lies in city cats, who well understand how we suffer at the hands of humans. They need to be brought here, though, and trained. This, unfortunately, puts an undue burden on available food. Sekhmet has had a number of discussions with the mice, rabbits, and squirrels. They all agreed to breed more actively.”