Perhaps they were burdens, but they seemed to her as light as kitten’s whisker. Besides, the vanity business was unfair. How else could a small kitten puff herself up enough to look as if she were the size for the job? What if she’d said to those doubting cats, “It was just an accident that the Dragon didn’t kill me. It had nothing to do with my being smart and intuitive, to say nothing of adorable in appearance?” Who would have been impressed? A kitten who’d been given the job of saving the world had no time to be humble.
The fear business was even more unfair. Did the Mother dare accuse her of lack of courage, she who had faced the mightiest beast on earth? Of course, she was afraid. She’d made it no secret that fear had trailed her from the beginning of the Quest, but she’d tried to use it. It warned her when danger threatened, which when humans were around was all the time. Her fear of humans had kept her alive. She wouldn’t give it up; she wouldn’t surrender her heart to the dangerous glue of human affection. It wasn’t smart, it wasn’t reasonable …
She sounded just like Serazina. She’d become infected by the girl’s poisonous thoughts. And now the few steps Serazina refused to take mirrored her own reluctance.
They were so close; a bridge of light shimmered between them. Reason argued against crossing it, and reason, as she’d said to Druid, was the enemy of the Quest. So easy to serve up tasty truths—Orion was the master of that—so hard to swallow them when they turned bitter in the throat. Now it was time for her to eat her own wisdom.
She closed her eyes, and impressions both sad and sweet flooded her heart: a bird’s twilight song, the dying beauty of a crescent moon, and the stately splendor of the Dance of Existence. Life and death spiraled ever in and out, and her own fears died gratefully so that she might truly live, be truly the servant of the quest.
Mother, she whispered, I’m ready to surrender fear and mistrust. Let me return Home.
The Mother purred, and Tara felt paws closing around her neck. Her sharp claws come to deliver me, the kitten sang. My soul trembles with joy. She shuddered with pleasure and pain as layers of her being shredded away, creating a passageway through which her soul could soar upward into the realm where all was One and life and death embraced and there was only the Dance, where she and Serazina were threads in a glowing tapestry, interwoven by the will of the Weaver.
She saw how bravely the girl danced in the face of what she believed to be certain death, putting Tara’s safety before her own. No more could be asked of any creature.
Guided by the Mother’s paw, Tara ran deeper into the swamp.
* * *
“No,” Serazina sobbed as she stumbled after her. “Why did you do that, you stupid kitten? I promised to take care of you, but I can’t save you if the dragon catches you. We’ll just both die. Don’t you know that I’d rather die than be too cowardly to save you?”
Twisted branches stretched out to grab her. The shadows cast in the dim light weren’t like other shadows; they had their own menacing life. The air was heavy and fetid with the dragon’s breath. A strand of moss touched her face, and she shrieked with fright.
* * *
“I sensed you coming, small whiskered one,” Druid roared, scooping her into his arms.
The force of his breath flattened Tara’s ears and ruffled her fur. “Softly, dragon,” she hissed. “Listen, the girl is on her way here.”
“I thought I heard the cry of a strange creature in distress. Why is she so unhappy?”
“Most humans are not overjoyed about meeting you. She’s only coming because she thinks she has to rescue me from terrible danger.”
“Her ignorance is appalling!” Druid roared. “If she believes that I’d harm you, I have little to say to her. In fact, it would be an insult to all dragons for me to meet her.”
“Don’t you dare, not after what I’ve been through today. Yes, her ignorance is far more appalling than you could possibly know. But she’ll be here any moment, and you will stay. Come, Druid, imagine how animals will sing of this day, of the great-hearted dragon who took a mighty and magnanimous step to save the World. Listen, that’s her, crashing through the bushes. Let me do the talking.”
* * *
Serazina cried as she stumbled down the vile, muddy path. No more special leftovers for that cat, she thought. Maybe she’s dead already, eaten up by the dragon, and even if he doesn’t kill me, I’ll never find my way out of here.
Through her tears, she noticed that up ahead a bit of sunlight shone through the dark leaves. A few steps later she saw a large pond. Water lilies floated on its surface. On the banks frogs sang.
And a dragon crouched, holding the kitten in his paws, not the friendly, courteous being of her visions, not the graceful dancing partner who’d whispered to her with sweet sibilance, but a huge, roaring beast, who, down to the last puff of steam spraying from his nostrils, was a creature who deserved to be hated with every cell of a human’s being.
The sight of him freed her heart entirely of the treacherous images of the green and golden Lady and the beautiful land, those glittering facades designed to conceal the horror of the swamp. There was no other world, only this one, and the only way to leave it was to die.
And maybe that would be best, better to die than to live this fearful life of suffering, nothing for her back in the world but a vanished father and a mother who was going to freak more than anyone had ever freaked, nothing but surgeons’ knives and losing herself in a slow death more painful than the one that waited for her now.
“Don’t you hurt her, old dragon!” she shouted as she raced towards the monster. “Let go of her!”
The dragon roared again, and the impact of his breath knocked her against a tree.
* * *
“Why did you do that?” Tara hissed. “Didn’t you know that too much fear can make a human’s heart stop altogether?”
“Considering the quality of their hearts, that wouldn’t be a tremendous loss,” Druid said. “And hers is a ugly little squeaking thing. I’ve seen slugs with more character. Is it a wonder that when my mind roared at me to attack, I obeyed?”
“It’s no wonder at all,” Tara said with a sigh. “It’s been that kind of day. But I have a few things to say that may scrape harshly against your scales. I’ve seen her heart, and it’s the most beautiful thing about her. When she charged you, it was pumping ferociously with courage. Maybe there’s an ugly squeak inside you. Maybe it isn’t her fear that burns your nostrils, but your own.”
“Me, afraid of a miserable spindly-legged thing?”
“Who stands for all the humans who hate you. Admit it.”
“I don’t like you as much as I did the other day,” Druid said. He raised his foot to stamp the mud.
“No!” Tara screamed. “I’ll be grooming all day, and I have other things to do.”
Druid slowly lowered his foot. “All right, I admit it, and I can’t think of one reason why I should even tolerate this creature in my swamp—”
Tara was sure she’d used up at least eight lives today. “And you’re afraid of what she means: giving up your reasonable hatred of the humans, sacrificing your peaceful life in the swamp, going into the human world, submitting your will to that of the One—”
Druid covered his eyes with his paws. “That’s more than enough in the truth department. But you’re going to have to do some very fancy tail-shaking to convince me to like that, that thing.”
“Just give me a chance,” Tara said, barely swallowing a yawn. She’d applied every discipline Orion had ever taught her about ignoring the demands of the body during this exhausting journey, but if she didn’t get to sleep soon she was going to collapse. “Do what I told you to do in the first place—nothing. Watch me, and get some idea of how to deal with humans.”
With a graceful twist, the kitten turned to face Serazina. The only sound in the clearing was her slow, rhythmic purring.
* * *
Serazina stumbled to her feet and picked up the kitten. “We�
�ve got to escape,” she tried to say, but her tongue was thick and heavy, and her mouth wouldn’t move at all. She found herself falling into the kitten’s eyes, into a stream of honey, smooth and silky as it flowed through her, liquefying her limbs, coating the dark warnings in her mind. It carried her back to the beginning of her journey (years ago, it seemed); its force split her into two people.
While the old Serazina sat on a bench, the new one was a bee who hummed as she flew among flowers glowing like jewels. As the first girl trudged through the meadow, whining, “Where are we going?” and wondered where the so-called magical world was, the second danced with birds and butterflies, skimming lightly over grass, her song a beam of light.
Old Serazina stumbled through the forest, crying for the beautiful Lady. New Serazina leaned her head against the comfort of Her shoulder.
The magic was here. It had always been here. The stream of golden light carried her into the Dance.
As she danced with the kitten and the dragon, she was the sway of the cypress trees, a cattail’s bold thrust, the sleepiness of moss.
The Dance moving within her, she saw those who shuffled reluctantly, humans, blindfolded as she had been, their feet trampling the delicate fabric of the pattern, their hands tearing at it, opening wounds that drowned the golden world in blood. She was a doe, sinking into death as her fawns bleated in terror, and a tree who screamed at the bite of the saw. She was the earth, stabbed by shovel and hoe, her veins filled with poison.
But all these horrors were symptoms spawned by desolate human hearts, driving some to the Godlies, who promised to strip them of emotion, naming it sin, some to the Healers, who organized the thoughts of their minds in neat rows, and others to the Earthers, who sang of redemption in grass and sky.
And where do I fit in? Serazina asked the lady.
You are my hope.
What must I do?
Learn to listen.
To you?
To all my creations. Listen.
A soft wind rose up, its sigh the feathery chords of a harp. Nestlings in a tree nearby cried out, “Hungry! Father! Food!” A song rose from their parent’s throat. “Coming, my loves.” Sunlight poured through the forest, each shining ray singing, “Grow, grow.”
Above these sounds Serazina heard a soft mewing like words and a deep rumble with hissing fringes.
“That was an astonishing performance, Tara. No one else could have convinced me of the tenderness possible in a human heart. I was amazed to feel sorrow that she had to experience her species’ misery.”
“She must feel it clearly. It’s not easy being Chosen.”
“But harder for her. Imagine seeing how far your own species has fallen.”
Serazina didn’t remember the last time she’d taken drugs, but she’d heard that they could have a long-lasting effect, all those chemicals lying in wait until a person was really stressed.
“I feel strange,” she said, but that was stupid. They wouldn’t understand.
The kitten loped over to her and mewed. Serazina’s mind filled with a picture of herself sitting down.
“Did you say I should sit down?” Stupid to ask.
The kitten mewed some more, and Serazina realized that she was shaking.
You’ve had a hard day.
“You’re talking? Really? I think I’m having a nervous breakdown.”
The kitten hissed. Quiet. Listen.
Serazina closed her eyes and saw, as if from a distance, the kitten and herself. Between them streamed pictures: a smiling, dancing dragon, the green and golden Lady, trees that sang to the sun.
“You gave me those pictures,” she said. “Is that how you talk?”
The kitten mewed and trilled, and Serazina, still following instructions, listened. I’ll pretend she’s talking, she thought, and the sounds shaped themselves into words.
“We communicate in two ways,” the kitten said. “All creatures make sounds, understandable to those who listen. We also stream pictures and emotions, just as humans do.”
She stopped mewing, and Serazina heard, “You hear human thoughts and emotions when they don’t speak. Why is it so hard to believe that every creature can communicate in this way?”
“Because I didn’t know animals could speak Oasan,” Serazina said.
“See how slow they are?” Tara said to the dragon, who nodded his head.
“Your words and emotions translate into the language all living things share,” Tara hissed. “Humans don’t know it because they don’t believe in it enough to listen.”
Listen, her father said. Father, I hear. Serazina started to cry. “I wish Johar were here. He’d understand.”
The kitten—Serazina suddenly heard her name, Tara!—looked up at her, her eyes warm and golden. “He does understand. I’d like to talk with you about that and about many things, but I’m more tired than a kitten has ever been. I know you’ve had an awful day, too, but you can’t imagine how many visions I’ve had to create just to get you here. And this last one has taken my remaining strength. I can’t explain anything right now.”
“Who can tell me what it was all for, what it means?”
“Him,” Tara said, pointing to the dragon before she closed her eyes again.
* * *
It was hard to hear him at first. She made it easier by climbing a tree so that they were close to eye level with each other, but she couldn’t stop the mind that kept on shouting, Don’t you know that’s the dragon?
Still, there was something magical about his eyes, soft, green, glistening with tears, and his voice, once she got used to its hissing undertone, was gentle and soothing as the sound of water flowing over stones.
She’d already experienced this Mother he spoke of, She who created all life, who loved her children and held them close to Her heart, even the humans who harmed Her—but that last bit seemed impossible.
“I don’t love those who hurt me,” she said.
“Nor do I,” Druid said. “I’ve hated the humans for a long time.”
Serazina lowered her head. “I wouldn’t blame any animal for hating humans, especially you. When I think of how people hate dragons. They have a drill—”
“I know about the drill. Don’t remind me of it. I don’t want our newfound rapport shattered.”
“I didn’t want to play it; it made me sick—truly.”
A shower of tears fell on her head. “That’s why you’re Chosen, and why I arrive at last to the belief that the Quest may come about, that the world may yet be saved, and that my being may once again be graced by the Mother’s smile.”
“Why do you cry?”
“Because the heart that gives up hope becomes like the dry earth. When rain comes, it cannot at first contain its moisture; the water spills away, as these tears spill from my shriveled heart.”
“Is it the way happiness sometimes hurts?”
“That way exactly.” He wiped his eyes, and his gaze fell on the flower she had tucked into her buttonhole. “How lovely. It glows like a gem, and a dragon loves nothing more.”
Tara opened her eyes and smiled a secret smile. “Why is that? Are dragons like humans, in love with possessions?”
“Certainly not. For us, the beauty of gems symbolizes the beauty of all souls, and their light illuminates the path to realization of this truth. So this flower sparkles in my heart, lights my path, and gives me courage.”
Serazina shook her head. “Anything seems possible here, where everything is magic. But in my world I’m just a girl, and I can’t change how people think.”
“All Chosen feel this way at first,” Druid said. “Ask Tara.”
“I’ve felt that way many times,” Tara said. “Even cats, who should know better, are difficult to convince. And once I was on my own, a small, lonely kitten weighed down with impossible tasks, I spent many nights in terror.”
“As did I,” Druid said. “Though I knew that all dragons were behind me, there’s something quite unsatisfactory about long
-distance support.”
“No support is even more unsatisfying,” Serazina said. “Do you know what they’d do to me if they found about this day?”
Druid looked at her with great interest. “What?”
Tara intervened. “To think a thing is to wish it into existence. We’ve all conquered a host of fears today, and this is a time to rejoice—” Her eyes widened, and a low moan escaped from her throat.
“Charming one, what troubles you? How can I ease your pain?” Druid asked, knotting his claws together.
“I don’t know, an uneasy feeling, as if someone is rubbing my fur the wrong way.” The kitten closed her eyes and shivered. “Somecat is dying and calling me, such a faint voice. Blessed whiskers, I think it’s my great-grandmother. I’ve got to go back. Druid, I’ll return as soon as I can, but it might be a day or so.”
“I’ll send Gris to the grove if I need you urgently.” The dragon began to weep. “I should be used to death by now, but the thought of your sorrow is heartbreaking.” He picked up the kitten, and they touched noses.
He turned to Serazina. “Chosen girl, be strong. Know that I will protect you. Though my thoughts are slow my heart is not. If you’re in danger, I will know.”
“Thank you, Druid. I’ll do my best not to let any humans hurt you. And I’ll try to be brave. I’ll try to remember the magic.”
He plucked at his hide and removed a gleaming green scale. “Keep this. Look at it when you doubt.”
Chapter 20
Tara noticed that Serazina was silent as they left the swamp. When she finally spoke, her voice was the whisper of a dead leaf from which all color had faded.
“Nothing is the same. We’re coming to a part of the forest I know well. I played here countless times as a child. That fallen tree has rotted more, and the stream hardly exists at the moment, but those changes don’t matter. It’s me, everything I was so sure of, everything that was true. I find myself wondering whether roots hold the trees up or if they rest on some kind of magic.”
“Both,” Tara said. “You’re coming home to some deeper truths. What you knew before was a different world, the world of humans.”
“But I’m a human, and I have to live in that world.”
“Live in it, yes, and change it.”
They traveled together a little further, and Tara said, “We part now.”
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