Dragon's Taming

by Miranda Martin

  My stomach sinks as I enter the main meeting area in one of the large caves. A group has gathered around Ragnar and Bashir as they discuss the issue of Ryuth. Or, I should say, argue about it. I scan the familiar faces watching the back-and-forth. Almost everyone is here. Astrid, Delilah, and Penelope are standing together, whispering to each other, their faces concerned. My name floats to my ear on a breath of air. Not a surprise considering the topic of discussion.

  The Zmaj elders Kalessin and Falkosh stand together with Ormarr, the healer, off to the side. Arawn stands grim-faced next to Melchior and Bashir. Errol and Samil are next to them, with the enormous smith, Padraig. Nobody has interjected yet, but that probably won't last.

  I move forward to stand next to Astrid.

  She glances over at me, her eyebrows knit together with worry. "Are you okay? We just heard that Ryuth attacked."

  "Yeah," I murmur, my eyes on the two arguing Zmaj, just like everyone else. "He calmed down right after Bashir left. There was never any danger of him hurting me."

  They don't have to know that I was afraid. Especially not right now, when the tone of this whole thing isn't heading in the direction I want at all.

  Oh, Ryuth.

  This was so the wrong move.

  Astrid nods, turning her attention back to the pair.

  "He has not yet attacked Mei, even after she has spent countless hours working with him. She is in no danger," Ragnar says, though I can hear the slight hesitation in his voice.

  If I can hear it so can everyone else.

  "You cannot guarantee that he will not hurt someone," Bashir continues, not mollified. "And you did not see how quickly he turned from calm to ravening beast!"

  Ravening beast? That's a little dramatic. With that kind of wording, this can't be going anywhere good for Ryuth. I can't just let Bashir run roughshod over Ragnar like this. He picked a time to bring this up when Ragnar was already weighed down by thoughts about Ryuth's lack of progress.

  I have to bolster his confidence about his brother. I have to stand up for Ryuth.

  I step forward

  Everyone's attention immediately turns to me. Not the most comfortable feeling. The weight of their stares crawls over my skin and I steel myself, drawing myself up to my full height. Not as tall as Astrid, but it's the best I got.

  "Ryuth has never once hurt me," I start, making sure my voice carries to everyone watching. I scan the faces around me, making eye contact. "Yes, there is an issue with safety, for Ryuth and for everyone else. There is no denying that truth. But that is why he's being kept separated, in a cell, where he won't be able to hurt anyone else. If he's locked away, the only person he's a danger to is himself."

  I hear some murmurs from the crowd, acknowledging that point.

  Bashir shakes his head, turning to face everyone, his arms spread wide in appeal.

  "I appreciate that Mei cares for Ryuth." He glances at me. "In all honesty, I applaud it. If only we all had a female who would protect us so passionately." He turns away again. "But the truth is, Ryuth is not a functioning part of the Tribe. Even setting aside the danger that he poses to us, nobody can deny that he is a drain on our resources. Resources that are already spread thin. He takes our food and water; he contributes nothing."

  There's a louder murmur of agreement from those gathered.

  This isn't looking good at all. It's all about survival out here, and we depend on each other for it. If anyone else wasn't contributing . . .

  "Bashir is right," Melchior says, stepping forward. "We, the hunters, work hard to bring meat back for everyone. As a physically healthy Zmaj, Ryuth eats a fair portion of it, making us work harder so we have enough food. Making us risk life and limb more often."

  I don't have an argument for that. I bite my lip.

  "There is no doubt that he is a drain on the Tribe," Kalessin agrees, his face grave. "That is clear."

  Screw this. I need to say something!

  "But there is still hope!" I interject, feeling desperation rising. "He is calm when I am with him or when Ragnar is with him. And he reached a level of clarity today when I sang to him that I haven't seen before! We can't just give up on him!"

  Bashir snorts. "I saw no clarity when he was attacking me like a raving lunatic," he argues. "He has been here long enough already. If he was not irrevocably lost to the bijass, he wouldn't still be behaving like this."

  There is no denying that Ryuth is suffering from the bijass, what the Zmaj call the state of regression they've been experiencing. After their civilization was devastated by the Epis Wars with invading alien races, the few remaining survivors descended into their hindbrain selves in order to survive. The neurological changes that occurred pushed the Zmaj closer to their primal instincts, covering their memories in a haze, sparking their territorial tendencies, and igniting their drive for what they call treasures.

  "Ryuth's case is one of the worst I've seen," Padraig agrees. "He cannot communicate at all."

  "Yes," Ragnar chimes in, his voice ragged. Everyone quiets, paying respect to the anguish in his tone. "The bijass has hit my poor brother especially hard. I do not know what manner of torture the Zzlo inflicted upon him . . . but it has left him marked."

  "That doesn't mean we should give up," I insist, touching Ragnar's arm. "He needs us more than ever." He looks over at me, his eyes sad. "Are we going to abandon Ryuth when he is in need?" I look around at the others. "Isn't the Tribe supposed to care for all of us? Do we want to be the kind of people that would abandon one of our own because it’s difficult?"

  "The Tribe is strong when we can all work together to create a whole. If there is a weakness, a rotten piece, it makes the rest of us weaker. And that endangers us all." Bashir shakes his head. "We cannot continue to shelter someone so lost," he continues, his eyes not lacking compassion as they meet mine. "It is not fair to Ryuth either, to be kept locked in a cage, like a criminal who does not deserve his freedom. Not when he can survive out there on his own. It is not right. It is cruel."

  He's greeted with another round of agreement for that.

  I don’t like that we must keep Ryuth in a cell either. It does feel wrong.

  "What would you have me do?" Ragnar asks, his jaw tight as he looks at Bashir. "And keep in mind that we are speaking of my brother, blood of my blood," he adds in a warning tone. "Do not overstep."

  Bashir nods. "I understand." Again he turns to address everyone. "I think Ryuth should be set free to live out his days as he so desires. Free of his cage." He turns to look at me and Ragnar at this point before looking away again. "And away from where we are, for our safety." He looks at Ragnar again. "Think of Olivia, Ragnar," he pleads. "Think of your child that shall soon be in your arms, out of your female's belly. Do you think it fair and good to take from your baby to give to your lost brother?"

  He pauses to let that sink in. What a fine bit of emotional manipulation!

  Bashir continues. "And what if Ryuth finds his way free? Are you certain the children will be safe? Or could they be part of a senseless and avoidable tragedy?"

  A heavy silence reigns now over the crowd.

  This is clearly not a decision anyone wants to make, but I can also see that this idea has been floating around. Yes, Bashir brought it up this time. But surprise isn't the prevalent emotion here. Some of the others have been talking about this already.

  I glance at the grim faces.

  Nobody will meet my eyes.

  I look back at Ragnar, a knot in my throat. Will he do this? Will he exile his brother? Give in to the pressure from the Tribe?

  Bashir makes some excellent points, even though I don’t agree with him.

  No others here have any kind of relationship with Ryuth, only Ragnar and me. They have no emotional ties to one they see only as a crazed Zmaj. That makes this kind of decision easier—for them.

  Ragnar makes a sharp, cutting motion with his arm, his face hard. "Enough, Bashir," he says in a grim tone. "I will agree to consider it. Th
at is the end of this topic for now."

  I let out a relieved breath, but my stomach drops. It feels only like a temporary reprieve. This problem isn't going anywhere. If Ryuth doesn't make clear improvements soon, the Tribe will push to have him released.

  To fend for himself out in that harsh desert.

  Alone. He doesn't do well alone, no matter what Bashir may think.

  I turn away from the crowd, my throat tight. I have to help him. Faster. He can't be kicked out.

  I don't know if his mind will survive.

  5

  Mei

  I make a stop to get some food and then head back over to Ryuth's cave. I wouldn't usually go back so soon after my last visit, but my time is limited now.

  They could decide to exile Ryuth tomorrow.

  I can't let that happen.

  I need to spend even more time with him. If that means getting a little less sleep, so be it. He needs someone to be there for him, to champion him. I don't see anyone else stepping up to the plate.

  When I arrive, he isn't raging against the bars like he is a lot of the time.

  No, he's pacing inside the cell like a caged animal, his muscled body moving with liquid grace. His head whips around as I approach, but he doesn't rush over. Instead, he crouches, his messy hair partially covering his face as his glittering eyes watch me enter.

  I have to push aside the disconcerting feeling that he’s a predator hunting its prey. Me. I’m the prey. I can't let the episode earlier scare me.

  "Hey, Ryuth," I say, giving him a strained smile as I close the gate. Having him escape now will for sure seal his fate.

  I take a step to where the table is supposed to be, but then realize it's currently lying on its side near the gate.

  Wonderful.

  Sighing, I set the plate down next to the wall and arduously push the table back over to where it's supposed to be. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me as I move.

  "You're going to have to start doing a better job of controlling your anger," I say as I try to push the table back upright. "If that means you have to break out the Force, you're welcome to call me Yoda." I grip the tabletop on both sides, heaving it finally back in place. I'm surprised it didn't completely break the gate when he threw it.

  I pick the plate up and bring it back over to the table. Ryuth follows me in a low crouch, keeping some distance between us as he studies what I'm doing. Turning to my shadow, I brace my hands on my hips.

  "Do you know what that show earlier has gotten you?" I demand. "Bashir ran right to Ragnar to complain about you. He said you're lost to your bijass. That you're a drain on resources and you're never going to get better. That we should exile you so you can fend for yourself. Though I think he used the words 'set you free'," I add in air quotes.

  I snort as I turn to drag the tossed about furs back to the bed.

  "Set you free, my ass," I mutter. "You have to be on your best behavior from now on. I don't care who shows up," I warn.

  When I look back over at him, I see him hovering near the food.

  "All right," I say, relenting. "Food first."

  I grab the chairs next and set them in their proper places. He comes closer when I sit down, knowing the drill. I feed him. His eyes watch me as he chews. He can eat on his own. But me feeding him has really helped him become accustomed to being closer to me. And I feel like it's teaching him some control.

  Or I'm just kidding myself. I don't even know anymore.

  I look into his eyes. Is there a little more of him in there than there was before? Or is that just wishful thinking? I consider him as he eats, which he does surprisingly quickly and neatly for someone who's supposed to be so far gone.

  I get the broom I set down near the gate. Sand gets everywhere here. I start sweeping, the handle smooth against my palm, wondering how I'm going to kick-start Ryuth's recovery when nothing has made a significant improvement in all this time.

  Is he really a lost cause? Am I wasting my time here? How can I reach the man I know is lurking in there? And do I really know he’s in there, or is that also just hope run amok?

  Ryuth starts his familiar humming once again, the low tone soothing.

  I join in, glancing over at him as I continue to sweep. He's watching me, but that's no surprise. He usually is when I'm in here with him. At first, it made me somewhat uncomfortable. But now I've kind of gotten used to it.

  No, the surprise is that I wasn't mistaken before. Humming along with him seems to reach something inside him. His eyes are definitely clearer, his whole demeanor more alert while also being more relaxed. Something about having the song replayed for him stimulates his brain in a different way. A way that he seems to be responding to.

  What is it about the song that has this effect? Is it because it's something familiar to him? Or is it simpler than that? Maybe he just likes the sound. Or it's different enough that it catches his attention. Activates a section of his brain that isn't normally engaged.

  I think about that, turning the thought over in my mind, examining it.

  Maybe I need to find more novel ways of reaching the parts of his brain that aren't activating? The parts where his higher-thinking self is buried. There's nothing wrong with his senses. He's been hearing everything, but only the song got through to him. Let's see. There's also taste, smell, vision.

  Touch.

  I bite my lip as I look over at him.

  Touch is the easiest thing I could try right now. Though it doesn't seem like the smartest idea. Yes, he hasn't hurt me.

  Yet.

  But what if getting closer, close enough to really touch him, will set off some kind of defensive instinct? Or what if he just doesn't like how it feels and lashes out in response?

  He could hurt me.

  Hurt me badly.

  He's so much bigger. Whatever hurt him mentally has had no effect on the strength in his big, scarred body, the body that tells only part of the tale of all that must have been done to him by his captors.

  I set the broom aside, rubbing my palms on my pants, made of that mesh material that allows air circulation in this heat. This might not work. I could be taking a risk for nothing. But I have to at least try.

  And the more I think about it, the more viable the idea seems.

  Humans are creatures of touch, and from what I've seen, so are the Zmaj. If Ryuth has only been touched with violence for years upon years . . . maybe a gentle touch will reach the wounded part of him hiding inside. The part that also responds to a song from his childhood.

  Maybe it will at least offer him some comfort, something he badly needs and I want to give.

  I close the distance between us gingerly. He stills as I approach, his eyes locking on me. I carefully kneel next, licking my lips. His eyes watch the movement and he tilts his head, his expression almost curious.

  Okay.

  Here we are.

  I stare back at him thinking about how to proceed.

  A verbal warning might be a good idea, even if he can't understand me.

  "I'm going to touch you now, Ryuth," I say. "Please don't kill me. That really won't help your case," I add with a little smile.

  Morbid but true.

  I watch his face as I extend my hand out, palm up. It feels less threatening that way somehow. It's trembling a little, but I can't help that. I'm nervous even though I'm trying not to show it.

  His eyes move away from my face to my approaching hand. He freezes in place as it nears. But he doesn't move away.

  I hesitate a centimeter away from touching his forearm.

  In for a penny.

  I touch him.

  He frowns, but he doesn't make any other move, looking up at me, confused. Wondering what all the fuss was about, maybe?

  I'll take it.

  I watch him, feeling his cool arm underneath my touch, the hard muscle indicating exactly how strong he is. I brave a little more, moving my hand up and down in a caress, watching his face for his reaction.

&nbs
p; He blinks.

  Again, he doesn't pull away. But there's also no other response to the light touch. Maybe I need to do more? Something more stimulating? It's my turn to frown as I think about that. I scan his face, taking in the nuances of his reaction.

  And my eyes fall on his lips.

  My heartbeat speeds up.

  A kiss?

  Maybe a kiss would work.

  It's more intimate, definitely.

  And just the idea of it has me going already. Maybe the shock of it will reach him. And there's no denying that I've been wanting to kiss him, touch him. But it's even more dangerous than the light touching I'm doing now.

  What if he doesn't like it?

  I wait another minute, thinking it over. Am I going to risk it?

  I bite my lip and his eyes drop down to the gesture. There's a glimmer of . . . something in them. Something new. That decides me.

  "I'd really appreciate it if you don't bite me," I say in a low voice as I lean in to him. "That would be a real bummer."

  His eyes move to mine as I stop a hairsbreadth away from his lips.

  I can feel his clean breath against me.

  I close my eyes.

  This is it.

  I press my lips against his cool, soft ones.

  And freeze like that, waiting to see if he decides now is a good time to throw me away from him. Or crush my head like a watermelon, maybe. He has the biceps to do it.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  Nothing happens.

  His lips stay still under mine.

  Okay.

  I push further. Because, hell, why not? I'm already in the lion's den. I kiss his upper lip. And then his plush lower lip. I lick at the seam where they join, hoping for some kind of response.

  But he simply holds himself still. Like he doesn't want me to touch him, but he's too polite to stop me? At that thought, I pull back, looking away from him.

  "I'm sorry, I thought—"

  I still as his hand reaches up to slide into my hair, cupping the back of my head. My eyes shift to his face, surprised at his tender touch. His eyes are on my lips as he draws me back in with that hand, his other arm sliding around my waist to press me fully against his front. A lot more contact than I'd made.