The Dragon Who Didn't Fly

by C. M. Barrett

  Yet her father’s warning rang in her ears: More like the humans every day. Tara had spent too much time with them. She’d started to think about the swamp the way they did. Still, if the Mother had created this dump, it was evidence of a character flaw.

  It would take hours of grooming to get this muck off her, assuming that she would return with something left to groom. Large animals, after all, were always hungry. All her quickness and cleverness wouldn’t matter at all if he cooked her alive with his fiery breath. No Tara, no Quest. Had anyone thought about that?

  * * *

  Druid decided to head back to his cave. Mossy clouds moved slowly through the sky, swollen as pregnant deer. A strange noise diverted him from his gloom, a delicate, feathery paw step, light as the dance of dandelion fluff. What creature was this? It wasn’t a thumping squirrel or rabbit and certainly not a scrabbling mouse. Tiny though the animal was, it moved with the majesty of a much larger beast, as Tomo once had moved before despair had devoured his heart.

  A flower of a face peeked through the tall grass, petals for ears and eyes like golden fire. It was the kitten he’d seen before, and this direct view of her parted the dark curtains of his disbelief, for who could doubt that the One who had fashioned so beautiful a creature was kind?

  The kitten’s body emerged, and steamy rage doused the light in Druid’s heart. What a cruel joke this Chosen was. Only cats insanely committed to the superiority of their species could look at this infinitesimal scrap of creaturehood and imagine her capable of saving the World.

  They all ought to be strung up by their whiskers, he raged, but even in the midst of his fury, he realized that no creature with a heart could fail to be moved by this charming, helpless kitten or fail to believe that protecting her would be the greatest honor possible. He, a dragon already sworn to protect the helpless, was in special danger.

  I won’t be trapped, he vowed. The Mother has gone too far in using so innocent a creature for her intentions. As Guardian of the Swamp, I have a duty to make this kitten welcome in my domain, but I won’t become involved in her misbegotten quest, no matter how adorable she is.

  He lumbered toward the kitten, his arms outstretched to greet her.

  * * *

  The path took a downhill turn. The trees thinned to reveal a pond from which dead, blackened stumps rose. So did the dragon on wobbly legs, his eyes gleaming in bloodthirsty anticipation, his terribly big teeth bared in a fiendish grin. This was not the dragon mirage she’d seen before. The closer he got, the more frightening he looked. She closed her eyes and prayed fervently.

  Mother, where are you? Are you going to let me be squashed flatter than dragon dung? If that’s Your plan I think I’ll take matters into my own paws.

  She opened her eyes and unsheathed her talons. I’ll fight to the death, she vowed.

  With a piercing yowl, she leapt at the mountain of green scales and dug her claws into his hide. “I’m Tara, the mighty huntress,” she hissed. “Dragon, die!”

  Chapter 16

  Druid was shocked when she lunged at him, hissing “Dragon, die!” Certain that he’d misunderstood, he caught the kitten in his paws, his scales trembling at the touch of her silky fur—until a claw pierced the soft skin of his paw. With a curse he dropped her.

  The kitten dashed up a tree. Safe in its heights, she bared tiny fangs. She didn’t look nearly as appealing with her delicate features squashed into a parody of ferocity, and her manner was no longer charming. Druid discarded his welcoming speech.

  “I beg your pardon, I mistook you for the Chosen.”

  “And so I am,” the little monster howled.

  “I doubt that. Any creature so honored would surely know that I was her friend.”

  She hissed at him. “I felt no friendship in you. I found a monster whose heart seethes with bitterness and hatred.”

  Her temerity was appalling. “I am Druid, the dragon of destiny,” he roared with such force that she was nearly blown out of the tree. “If my heart is bitter, it has excellent reasons. You might listen to them before passing judgment.”

  The kitten was too intent on keeping herself from tumbling to the ground to answer. Once she’d found her balance, she said, “Ask me politely to listen. Apologize for your rudeness. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

  “But that’s the whole problem.” Druid caught himself. “Would you allow me to tell you?”

  The kitten dug her claws into the tree bark, and the puffball of ferocity shrank. “If I could get over the fear that you’re going to blow me out to sea, I might be able to listen. An animal as gigantic as you needs to learn better control.”

  Druid examined the small ooze of green blood on his paw. “Sometimes the tiniest things cause the most pain. I refer, of course, to your claws.”

  “Self-defense,” the kitten muttered. “When you’re a small kitten like me, faced with a big dragon like you, jumping to the wrong conclusion is safer than not jumping at all.”

  She did have a point. “I’m sorry,” Druid said. “We seem to have gotten off to an awfully bad start. Tara, mighty huntress, would you mind coming down from that tree so we can start over?”

  “I’ll stay in the tree, if you don’t mind, at least until I feel a little safer. Besides, it’s easier to hear you at this elevation, and I would like to hear your story.”

  Druid started to smile, until he noticed the kitten shrinking at the sight of his fangs. “I promise not to bite,” he said.

  “Are you good at keeping your promises?”

  “You can ask any animal in the swamp. One of my best friends is a squirrel much smaller than you.”

  “Squirrels,” the kitten said with a sniff. “You think I accept them as references? But go on. Just remember to breathe gently.”

  Getting to know this kitten was a lot of work. “I’ll tell my story with the intention of friendship between us. Long ago, I had parents.”

  He told Tara his history of abandonment, of the long years of waiting, and of the eventual rot caused by despair. Druid even told her about his vow to never fly again, a secret that no other animal knew.

  “You must understand,” he said in conclusion, “that Her indifference, though galling, caused no problems as long as things were in balance. But now She’s allowing the humans to wreck the World. I know it’s my destiny to prevent this, but does She speak to me? Does She give me so much as a suggestion of how to save our home?”

  The kitten looked at him sharply. “I’m trying to avoid rudeness, but sometimes a sharp claw is needed to pierce the film of illusion. Have you been listening for Her voice? It’s clear that you’ve been brave these many years, and I, a kitten of instant destiny, can’t judge what it must have been like to wait so long for a sign. It’s perfectly reasonable to hold a grudge against Her, but my father always says reason is how the humans think.”

  “Oh, I know that.”

  “You think you know, but not until you live among them do you realize what it means. Most of them have hearts the size of mouse droppings. And, even though I have more faith in the Mother than you seem to, I have a grudge or two against Her myself, mainly because she’s sent me into their stinking dwellings.”

  Druid admired her adroit, thoroughly feline, way of commanding his respect. I am small, she said, but I have been where dragons fear to tread. And he knew this to be so. When he’d first seen her, a human had threatened her life. It would do no harm to remind her that he’d saved her.

  “Do you remember when we met before?”

  “Orion and I thought it might have been you, but to our eyes you were blurry. We wondered whether you were transmitting from a distance.”

  “So I was, and the image I created in that vile human’s mind was a fearful one.”

  “You’re good at that.” The kitten shivered.

  “And yet I wasn’t trying to frighten you today.”

  “Maybe you’ve gotten into the habit. Still, I promise to hold my memory of your rescue of
me more firmly in my mind and heart. It’s the problem of living with humans. I need constant vigilance to avoid falling into the sloppiness of their mental and emotional patterns.”

  “I can hardly imagine,” Druid said.

  “And I should have believed Orion. He’s my father, the cat who was with me that day. He said I could trust you. Thank you with all my heart, which is loyal, for saving him and me.”

  He sensed the scampering of her thoughts as she integrated that past incident into the spacious Now. A large intelligence was tucked into her tiny head.

  “Tell me about life among the humans. Tell me what the Mother says to you. Tell me about the quest.”

  Tara raised a paw. “You’ll have me pouncing in three directions at once. I suppose you’ve got to know about the humans, but you won’t find it inspiring.”

  This was an understatement. Her description of human customs appalled him, and nothing shocked him more than her account of the dragon game.

  “I’ve never heard of anything so disgusting. Believe me, kitten, when I say that I haven’t lifted a claw against them. Why do they fear me so?”

  Tara looked thoughtful. “I’m coming down to demonstrate. Watch your feet, please.”

  She climbed down the tree and chased her tail.

  “This is no answer!”

  Though his breath ruffled her fur, her eyes didn’t blink. “Not all answers are spoken with words. I thought I’d try to show you. We cats like to pretend that our tails aren’t part of us so that we can entertain ourselves by chasing them. We also enjoy jumping away from shadows and other things, even though we know they can’t hurt us. We play at fear.”

  She pounced on a fluttering leaf. “An animal may know a moment of fear or several, some of them very long, but usually our hearts lead us back to Her protection. Because the humans don’t know Her, they have no relief from their fears. They make it more difficult for themselves to find Her by putting obstacles in their path.”

  “Obstacles?”

  “They gather together their fears, large and small, into one huge fear, for example, fear of you.”

  She paused for a moment, and looked at the ground far below. “Dragon, it’s painful for me to say this, but you, too, seem to have lost your way Home. You say the Mother doesn’t speak to you, but when did you last speak to Her other than in anger? Have you thanked Her for the blessings she’s given you: a home that seems to suit you, lots of whatever it is you eat? Have you praised her for sending good friends into your life or for the gifts of the heart?”

  The kitten was getting carried away, punctuating her questions with short jabs of her paws. “Have you asked Her to guide you? Have you recognized Her guidance when it appeared? Have you had dreams from Her that you ignored? Have you praised yourself for the greatness of your heart? The Mother comes to those who honor Her by honoring themselves.”

  “You’re wise, small one,” Druid said in a trembling voice. “You’ve learned the secrets of my heart, and I can trust you with them. I don’t pretend that I share your faith yet, but I’m beginning to see that the impossible may be possible.” He bowed his head in shame. “I haven’t lost faith. I’ve abandoned it.”

  “Don’t be ashamed,” Tara said. “I abandon faith two or three times a day, but I have Orion to cuff me back on the path.” She glanced at the sky. “I’d better go before anyone gets worried about me.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to,” Druid said. “I wish you could stay forever.”

  “I’d be too busy grooming myself to talk to you at all, but I’ll come back.”

  “I’ll take you to the edge of the swamp. Hop on my neck, it makes a lovely perch.”

  “If a bit unsteady,” the kitten said as she scrambled for a claw hold on his scales. “No sudden leaps of ecstasy, please.”

  Druid kept his pace to a stately crawl. “I forgot to tell you about the humans threatening the swamp. A young squirrel overheard them talking about taking water from us.”

  Her claws dug into his hide. “I heard a human speak of a plan for water. His voice was slicker than your scales. Did the squirrel hear anything else? No, please don’t shake your head.”

  Druid stopped just in time. “She heard that the swamp would be drained and taken over by humans. That put all animals into deep despair.”

  “The pattern begins to come together,” Tara said. “If the humans want to destroy the swamp, all animals must find a way to defend it. And where does the girl fit in?”

  “If she could meet me, she’d realize I’m not so awful. If she’s a decent sort, I might be able to revise my opinions of humans.”

  “Be sure you’re on your best behavior. Before that happens, we cats will have much to discuss. Druid, don’t despair if days pass before I return. We must gather as much information as possible, and I must take the time to flood the girl with positive pictures of you. It will be best if I can break through and communicate with her. I’ll be busier than a kitten chasing her tail.”

  They came to the beginning of the woods, and Druid lowered his neck to the ground. “And I must prepare the swamp animals for the arrival of a human who comes in peace.”

  They looked at each other. “Those are big jobs,” Druid said.

  “You’re a big dragon. I’m a small kitten with a big mission.” With a wave of her tiny paw, she was gone.

  The moment she disappeared, Druid wanted to call her back and tell her the one detail he’d omitted from the story of his parents’ abandonment. Even though he’d never trusted anyone with the secret of his vow not to fly, maybe her huge golden eyes would bathe him in the light of understanding.

  And maybe they’d narrow into molten slits, and she’d hiss at him and say that was more stupid than a cat deciding to never pounce again. And she’d decide that she wasn’t going to risk her life on someone as hopeless as he was.

  And she would be right.

  Druid slunk back to his cave, his wings dragging through the sand. For most of his life he’d prevented them from doing what they were meant to do—and for what? His parents weren’t suffering because he didn’t fly. Only one dragon suffered from his infantile decision, and he deserved to suffer.

  It was one of the things Druid did best.

  * * *

  The sun was sinking behind the trees when Tara raced into the grove, now filled with even more cats. “I succeeded,” she cried. “I met the dragon, and it was so frightening at first—”

  He stopped her with a flick of his ears. “Wonderful news, and our visitors would like to hear it.”

  “Fine, I’ll just have Emerald clean me up first.” Tara’s fur rippled with pleasure as she imagined the good cleaning it would get now. She ran to her mother’s side. When Orion dragged her away she howled.

  “Get your teeth out of my neck, you bully. I want Emerald. I’m covered with mud and dragon drool.”

  He, Bast, and Sekhmet made a circle around her, blocking her from the view of the city cats.

  “How can you behave without dignity? You shame all cats,” Sekhmet hissed. “The cats from the city need to hear this story.”

  “Yes.” Bast’s voice was a talon.

  Tara shook her head. “I can’t behave with dignity until I’m groomed, and any cat who doesn’t understand that can take a flying leap into a garbage can. You can tell them how it is, and I can collect my thoughts while Emerald washes me.”

  The Big Three marched away, and Emerald purred her approval. “I love to see their backsides twitching with frustration. Let’s fluff you up. You’ve been in some nasty stuff, child.”

  Emerald’s rough tongue restored Tara to balance, licking away some of her anger at cats without faith. She remembered that her faith hadn’t lasted any longer than it took for one paw to get muddy with swamp muck. Only meeting the dragon had restored her.

  How could she convey who the dragon was? How was she to convince these doubtful cats without impressing them with her own heroism, without boasting and getting knocked across
the grass by Orion?

  Now completely clean, she decided that the only way to tell the story right would be to forget about the problems of telling it.

  The cats were quickly drawn into Tara’s story, some even licking themselves when she described her immersion in mud. The more their beings reached out to hers, the more the story captured her until she was no longer the one telling it. The words streamed through her.

  When she finished, a village cat spoke. “I’m Malta,” she said, “and this cat wove for me my own story of courage. I’m ready to follow the Path.”

  Other cats, young and old, rose to call out their names and promises. Orion’s haunches rippled with excitement.

  Senti rose to his haunches. “I didn’t come here because I believe in the Quest, the Mother, or even—”he flicked a ragged paw at Tara—”the Chosen. I came because I didn’t want to die without ever having left the alley. I came because I was curious enough to slink out to meet danger instead of waiting for it to come to me.

  “Now I’ve seen that one thing the cats who visited my alley said is true. This is a better life than we live in the city. Though I laughed my butt off at old Misha’s songs of a green world, here it is. All cats deserve to know the Green. This may not be your idea of the Quest, but it’s mine.”

  “You’re an honest cat, and one who can drop the veils from your eyes when evidence challenges what you believe,” Sekhmet said. “The time will come when you believe more. Until then we accept the terms of your allegiance.”

  That was awfully easy-going for Sekhmet. Tara thought vows should be more wholehearted than Senti’s. “What about faith in the Mother’s guidance? How can a cat who doesn’t believe in Her lead others? You say all cats deserve to know the Green, but to truly know it is to know Her.”

  Senti said, “Takes a lot to convince a cat from the alleys. I’m waiting and watching. I admit I’m impressed by this Dragon business. And no matter who you are, I’m willing to die for even the little bit of time I’ve spent so far in the Green.”

  “You’re a different cat already,” Misha said. “The rest will come.”

  If Misha thought so, Tara wasn’t going to object any longer. “Would you like to hear more about the dragon?”

  “Go on,” Orion said.