The Dragon Who Didn't Fly

by C. M. Barrett

  Murder looked exactly like what Emerald had in mind when she heard about the incident. “A little field trip, and you were going to keep Tara safe. Instead you lead her right into the arms of death. Her first encounter with the humans, and she nearly gets killed.” Her slashing claws punctuated her growls. “Forget the Quest, forget those miserable humans. Let them rot in their greed and viciousness. Tara’s not leaving my sight until she’s a lot older.”

  “This is a major setback,” Sekhmet said.

  “Setback?” Emerald screeched. “If you lose your so-called Chosen, you lose everything.”

  “Orion did save her,” Bast tried to point out.

  “Orion didn’t do shit; some big lizard saved her.”

  Tara’s father knew better than to try to defend himself. He eluded Emerald’s claws and stalked away. Bast and Sekhmet followed him.

  Emerald examined Tara for possible wounds and licked her head. No, father love wasn’t as good as mother’s. Now that Orion’s smooth-tongued words about leadership and courage began to fade from Tara’s memory, fear returned. “I think they made a mistake about me,” she told Emerald. “No kitten could stand up against humans.”

  “Of course not. Believe me, those cats are mistaken about a lot. Lousy foreigners, they think they know everything.”

  The other kittens crowded around her. “Phew, you smell bad,” Cloud said.

  Tara mewed faintly. “It’s not my fault.”

  “Of course it isn’t.” Emerald licked her vigorously. “I’ll get that bad human smell out, and you won’t ever have to stink that way again. They can find someone else to do their dirty work for them and not send out a tiny kitten. They should be ashamed of themselves.”

  “But I feel like a failure,” Tara whimpered.

  Emerald’s eyes narrowed to fiery green slits. “They have a lot to answer for.”

  * * *

  Phileas had just finished another dreary round of sex and was about to step into the shower when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Malvern Frost to see you with urgent news,” Rey’ell, his personal guard, said.

  “Ask him to wait five minutes.”

  Phileas showered and dressed quickly and went into his reception room. “Greetings, Councilor.”

  “Greetings, Guardian. That was a real beauty I passed on my way up here. Sometimes I wish I had your job.”

  Phileas thought about the doltish son Frost had sired. The country would be in a much bigger mess if Malvern were Guardian, but it was interesting and alarming that he could even imagine himself in the position.

  “You had something to tell me,” Phileas said. He looked at Frost closely and noticed the furrows on his forehead.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Some vicious cat attacked me. They should be exterminated, lazy, filthy beasts. But I didn’t come to tell you about that. The dragon appeared in my back yard.”

  Phileas leaned forward, his body taut. He discreetly scanned Malvern to determine whether he’d been drinking, but the man seemed sober. “Tell me more.”

  “My dog, Mongo, had been barking, and I thought a raccoon might be after my chickens. Instead, I saw a pair of cats. After the big one attacked, I was going to shoot them both when the dragon suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, breathing fire and poison. It burned inside my chest. I thought I was having a heart attack. He disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.”

  “And you didn’t report this?” Phileas demanded.

  “I informed the local Guards, and they came out to investigate at once, but it’s been so dry they couldn’t find any paw prints.”

  Why is the dragon suddenly being seen? And why is Malvern connected to both sightings? The interviews with the three men who’d claimed to see the dragon earlier had been unsatisfactory in all regards. All employees of the Water Commission, they’d claimed to be checking the fields’ irrigation systems when the monster had suddenly appeared.

  The notion that they’d chased the Dragon back to the swamp was, of course, absurd. You didn’t chase a beast the size of a tall tree anywhere. When the Healer in charge of the investigation had scanned their minds, he’d found rampaging cowardice, terror, and curious blank spots, as if parts of their memories had been erased. The Healer believed that shock had caused the erasure, but Phileas felt uneasy about this conclusion, particularly since the men’s minds had now further deteriorated. They’d been moved to the Ward for the Chronically Crazy.

  Phileas decided that Malvern’s mind was worth another quick scan. Morally, he was only supposed to scan without permission in the case of national emergency, but he couldn’t imagine a more appropriate occasion than a dragon appearing in someone’s backyard.

  He continued the discussion, asking questions about the dragon’s appearance, while casually exploring the Water Commissioner’s thoughts. Oddly, he found no inconsistencies. The man might be deranged, but he believed he’d seen the dragon.

  “It still hasn’t rained,” Phileas said. “I’ll order field scientists to visit your property and see if they can find any traces of the dragon: scales, a toenail, something that can be analyzed.”

  “And then what? Will a toenail analysis make us any safer?” Malvern demanded.

  “It may help us determine the next step.” Not that Phileas had any idea what the next step should be.

  To Phileas’ surprise, Malvern nodded. “Let’s see what they say.”

  * * *

  Orion waited a day before approaching Tara. “Get away from me,” she hissed. “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t want any more lessons. Don’t think you can smooth-talk me into anything.”

  He looked so sad that she softened her tone. “You did your best, and if I were really the Chosen, nothing would stop me from following my path. So that means I’m not, even if the Golden One appeared to me.”

  Remembering the Golden One made Tara understand why humans cried tears. She couldn’t help thinking about the feeling of floating and the softness of the Great Cat Mother’s paws. All that would be lost to her now.

  “It isn’t right to choose me and then not make me brave enough to stand up to fear.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Orion said in a rich, rumbling voice. “But it’s my failure, not Hers. And no matter what your path in life, fear shouldn’t block it. Will you allow me to teach you one last lesson?”

  “You’re not going to trick me into saying I’ll be the Chosen again?”

  Orion’s whiskers twitched. “You know too much of what it means to be Chosen for me to trick you. No, this is a simple lesson about fear.”

  “It better be.”

  “I promise. Now, feelings are like mice. If you come upon a nest of them, they’ll all dart away. Chase the one who seems easiest to catch. Let’s see what you can catch right now, besides fear. You’ve already eaten that, and it’s left a bad taste in your mouth.”

  Tara thought for a minute. “I’ve eaten shame for disappointing cats and wasting their time, letting Her down. That’s the worst thing.”

  “Is it really? Were you only drawn to the idea of being Chosen so that you could act like a worthy cat? Maybe you were drawn because when you were in Her presence, it was the most delicious sensation anyone could know, the feeling of love flooding every corner of your being. It leaves no room for the scrabbling claws of shame or fear or any feeling that hurts. There is only the One.”

  Tara’s whimper of pain grew into sharp cries, and Orion wrapped himself around her. “And you think you have to be the Chosen to feel that way, but you don’t. Anyone can have that feeling, if they let Her fill them. That’s what we want all beings to know, even the humans. That’s what the Chosen will teach, but we’re not talking about that now. We’re talking about you, just as you are. When you’re frightened, reach for Her, and She will always be there for you. She’s here now.”

  A shaft of warm light flooded away the darkness of Tara’s misery, wrapping itself around her inner being as closely
as Orion held her body.

  “You feel Her, don’t you?”

  Tara pressed her head against Orion’s rumbling chest. She was thinking she could lie this way forever when a faint scratching clawed at her veil of contentment, and a face peeked through, a human face, eyes wet with sorrow, tears sliding down dark cheeks, their source a deep pool of anguish.

  “You see something,” Orion said softly.

  “A human, not an angry one, a sad one, female, I think. She has great feeling, and her thoughts are like reeds in a stream. They have no power to hold back the flow. She tries to resist it, and she is close to drowning. If she could only float.”

  “Could she learn?” Orion’s voice was no louder than the sigh of a breeze through leaves.

  “Maybe. She would have great power if she did. She raises her arms; she reaches for something, someone . . . me.”

  Tara’s eyes snapped open. “You tricked me.”

  “I didn’t give you that vision. You reached for it with your own paws. And, furthermore, I won’t tell Sekhmet and Bast about it. The choice is yours.”

  “And what’s the choice?”

  “This human female whose ability to feel is less damaged than most of her kind may have some connection to the Quest. She calls for help, as you, without knowing you did, called on the dragon. He answered your cry. Now you must decide whether to answer hers.”

  Tara thought of the frightful human with the smoking stick. “And what happens to her if I don’t?”

  Orion shrugged. “She’ll surely get into trouble.”

  “Danger?”

  “I suppose.”

  Tara thought Orion was trying too hard to be casual about the whole thing. “Tell me one thing. Can I be the Chosen and still have fear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, really, or yes, a trick?”

  “Yes, really. You’re a mortal creature. You will die some day. You may think being Chosen means letting those who follow you think you’re fearless, but that would only make them ashamed of their own fears and decide they were unworthy for the Quest. To be afraid and act bravely anyway honors Her. It shows your trust that, no matter what happens, you will end up safely curled up against Her warm belly. And so you will, Tara, no matter what you choose.”

  Tara thought about fear for the rest of the day, trying to stalk her thoughts with patience and focus, as Orion had taught her. In the evening she found Emerald alone.

  “You told us once about being afraid of dying when you lived in the city,” Tara said.

  “Mostly afraid of dying in awful ways, more, maybe, about suffering.” Emerald drew her closer. “I was afraid I’d die when all you kittens were born. I was too young, too small, but somehow in the middle of it, I stopped worrying about it.”

  “Maybe you felt Her touch.”

  “I’m not so sure about Her touch. I’m more a paws on the ground kind of cat, although . . .” Her eyes grew misty. “I do remember thinking I was giving my life for something important, and I don’t mean just you and your litter mates. It felt so big that I felt big.”

  “And fear felt small?”

  “That’s just how it was.”

  Tara clawed some loose dirt, wishing she could bury her fears in the earth.

  “You’re thinking about this Chosen thing,” Emerald said.

  “It won’t leave me alone, but not because Sekhmet and Bast are bothering me about it. Orion told them to back off.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “It’s all coming from me now. I don’t want to someday look around and see what a mess the world is and think that I could have changed things. It’s wanting to feel bigger than fear.”

  “And that’s something you want, no matter what you decide,” Emerald said. “Sleep now, and let those worries rest.”

  Tara fell asleep against her mother’s side and dreamt that the female human came to her and picked her up, holding her against her human heart.

  “Sweet, sweet,” she whispered. “Please, small precious one, be my friend.”

  Emerald licked Tara awake. “You were whimpering in your sleep.”

  “Just a dream,” Tara murmured. To herself, she said, Just a choice.

  “I’ve chosen,” she told Orion the next day.

  He stood very still. “And this time, it is a true choice.”

  His pace of teaching accelerated over the next few weeks, a period that coincided with her decreasing need to nurse. All the kittens began to lose interest, and Emerald’s milk slowly dried up. She was still affectionate with them, but she often disappeared when the occasional thought of nursing occurred to them.

  This happened less to Tara, as Orion taught her how to prevent physical desires from taking over. “Anycat can find herself in circumstances where it isn’t possible to immediately satisfy hunger, thirst, or the need to sleep. Our journey from Tamaras, for example, was no luxury trip. We don’t want the success or failure of the Quest to depend on whether you’re too in need of a nap to think clearly.”

  Tara learned how to draw on deep and unsuspected resources of strength when exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her and how to defer the need for a tasty mouse. “Is this what those trained humans do?” she asked Orion.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes, but for different reasons. We celebrate our bodies and we understand that when they tell us to eat, to drink, and to sleep, these messages are meant to help us preserve wellness and balance. Those humans who elevate mind above body read these messages as signs of weakness and failure.”

  “How painful it must be to live in a body and not like it,” Tara said.

  “And not only their bodies, but their emotions as well, although they are less successful in either shielding or suppressing them. Tomorrow I’ll teach you about shielding.”

  The next morning Tara and Orion climbed to a mountain meadow fragrant with wildflowers and the scent of mice and voles.

  “I smell your appetite,” Orion said.

  Tara washed a paw. “I was just about to suppress it. But how did you know?”

  “A certain odor comes from the stomach when an animal longs for food. It’s as distinctive as the smell of fear or sexual arousal. You can prevent these emissions by suppressing the desires and emotions or by shielding yourself. You must learn this, and you must also learn to slip past the shields of others, especially humans.”

  “Do they have any? I sensed their thoughts and emotions like a bad smell on the wind.”

  “Yes, that’s well said, but we’ve heard that a few of them have formidable protection. While they could hardly equal those of a cat, we’re not about to underestimate them. Let’s practice. See that crow in the sky? Tell me about him.”

  Tara closed her eyes. The crow’s awareness had a predatory, guarded nature, but his shielding was far from thorough. “He sees carrion in a field. He imagines with great pleasure sinking his sharp beak into its ripeness. Ugh.”

  “Good. See if you can locate a nearby rodent.”

  Tara sensed a chattering squirrel and saw pictures of seeds and nuts.

  “All right, rest a minute. Remember what I said before, the emotions of a frightened animal are very loud. Rabbits are the extreme. Their fear can become so great they physically cry out, but even if they don’t, you will feel an intense disturbance.”

  “And with humans, what will I sense?”

  “My sisters have done some preliminary sensing of humans in the village. Few of those trained to suppress emotions have more than partial success. The most they can do is to muddy them. Their anger is dull, their fear dim. The cats report that their minds are full of vague but disturbing anxiety and depression, as if a cloud blocked the sun. Ironically, their attempts to suppress emotion have more damaging effects to their mental capacities than releasing them would.”

  “Sometimes I almost feel sorry for them,” Tara said.

  “You’ll need to refresh that attitude when you’re living among them.”

  Over the ne
xt few days, Tara practiced on a large variety of animals, until Orion said, “Now try to shield yourself against me. Most humans believe we don’t have minds, and they’re not likely to try to look within. However, convenient as their ignorance is, you can’t count on it. I’m going to teach you to present no-mind to them at a moment’s notice. Think of a sound you like.”

  “Emerald’s waterfall.”

  “Imagine that sound. Good, make it a little louder and let it go while you think about whatever you want.”

  He was silent for a moment and then laughed. “Orion is a big fat poop?”

  “You’re too good.”

  “That’s why practicing with me will be so helpful.”

  By noon, Orion could only hear the waterfall. “Now, gradually lower the volume of sound.”

  “But then you’ll hear my thoughts.”

  “No, the waterfall will turn into an invisible barrier.”

  Orion is a silver-tongued foreigner, Tara thought. Her father narrowed his eyes for several minutes, and then purred. “I didn’t hear your thoughts. Well done. We’ll practice every day until you leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “In a week, small one. It will be the mid-spring festivities. We’re working on a special ceremony to honor you.”

  “A week?”

  She was about to explain how impossible that was when Orion’s ears flickered. “My mother and brothers have arrived.”

  Chapter 7

  Orion darted toward the cats, handsome tabbies like himself. He touched noses with each of them and motioned Tara to approach.

  “No need to tell us who this is,” Hathor said, her golden eyes sweeping Tara with a warmth like that of the noonday sun. “We felt the glow before we saw you, a shimmering of light.”

  The others purred. “Greetings, Small One of Great Power.”

  Great Power! The words were like the scrape of a rough tongue, tingling through her. She was trying to think of something Great to say in response when Orion, with a lightning-swift paw, knocked her over.

  She came up hissing. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Your prideful thoughts reeked like an overripe fruit about to explode. Always be careful how closely you listen to voices of praise; they can drown out the wiser voice within.”