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Defiance

Small actions make a difference

By Lisbeth StewartPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 20 min read
2
Defiance
Photo by Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash

Tabba breathed carefully. Control. Control was key.

The dragon had excellent hearing. He would notice a pounding heart. He had told her that, the night he killed her family and left her to suffer.

The memory flooded her mind again.

She was 5 years old. So tiny. She was hiding under the bed when the dragon ripped through the wall with his claws and tossed the bed aside.

"I see you." He said in his terrible sneering voice, the smell of burned flesh reeking from his huge mouth. "I hear you. Your tiny little heart bashing to escape your chest. I almost want to help it escape."

He pulled back a little and turned his head back and forth, examining her with each of his eyes from every angle and she shook all over, clutching her knees as she sat, her four tiny wings fluttering uncontrollably behind her, unable to look away from him. She had wet herself.

He laughed.

"You're too tiny to bother with. I'll wait until you're grown, then come and eat you. Maybe I'll wait until you make a family, so it's a proper meal."

He left the house and continued destroying the village, smashing, burning, eating, collecting.

She breathed again as the memory faded, and she came back to the present. Control. Regain control.

Tabba was resolute. Hardened. She had prepared for 20 years. She was ready.

She had studied. She knew what she was doing and how to do it. She had found Teachers. She had trained her body and her mind.

She had tracked his lair. Considering the many who had wanted to raid his hoard over the years, but been unable to find it, her success was remarkable. “I had better motivation,” she told herself, but it was more than that. She had unshakable determination and real skill.

Now she was here. The time was now.

So why was she hesitating? Why was her body trembling in fear? Why was her mind searching for reasons to delay? Why was she thinking of everything that could go wrong, when she needed to focus on the plan going right?

The terror of her 5 year old self was still there. Burned into her memory. Surviving had not been a relief. It had been torture. The agony of survivor’s guilt. The loss of her parents and everyone she loved. Her home. Everything she knew and understood.

Perhaps not quite everything. When the people from the nearest village reached her, two days later, they had shown her kindness and protection. They welcomed her. They gave her space to cry and scream and gave her a stuffed bag to punch and kick. They understood.

The dragon had been terrorising villages in this land for hundreds of years. They could see no pattern to the timing of his attacks, but they were total in their devastation every time. Usually he would leave a survivor amongst the rubble. Sometimes an elderly and infirm person who may already be expected not to live much longer. Sometimes a child. Sometimes one person who was standing in the middle of the others he killed. There seemed to be no reason for the selection. There seemed to be only cruelty, not kindness, in his choice. This they knew because he told them.

“He told me,” she thought to herself. “He told me that I was too tiny and that he would come back and eat me when I had a family. He told others they were to tell everyone of his fierceness, and that he wanted them to suffer.

I have suffered in surviving. I have suffered growing to adulthood, fearing to have a family of my own. He robbed me of everything.

Now I will rob him of something.”

She pictured it again in her mind’s eye. Her family had not been especially wealthy, but they had some nice things. She had only been very young, but she could remember her grandmother’s ruby necklace. She had played with it as a baby on her grandmother’s lap. She had loved the bright sparkle it made in the sunshine, the smooth hardness to her touch. There was a small indent in the gold that, for some reason, she loved to rub. She found it soothing. She had loved her grandmother’s gentle, smiling chastising when she tugged too hard. She had loved her grandmother. She was going to bring back the only part of her that she could: the ruby necklace.

So many people had tried to dissuade her from this path, for all the years that she had spoken of it. So she had stopped speaking of it.

“You can’t possibly go to the dragon’s lair! No-one knows where it is!”

She had found it. His cave was near the top of the mountain. A natural cleft in the rock let her observe him from above.

“You can’t go to the dragon’s lair! He will see you and eat you!”

She had learned how the dragon senses, and how to remain hidden from him. At least, she hoped she had. She had left her written notes in her room, so that if she didn’t come back, the next person would know what didn’t work.

“You can’t go to the dragon’s lair! It’s suicide!”

Not going would leave her in this half-life, and that was unacceptable. She may as well be dead.

“You can’t go to the dragon’s lair! It will make him angry and he will take vengeance on villages!”

This one was hard to guarantee, but she hoped that he wouldn’t even notice. Taking from him and leaving him unawares was opposite but equivalent for her: he took from her and left her far too aware. An unknowing dragon left the door open for future adventures, and kept everyone safe.

If she failed, and the dragon ate her, he might be satisfied with that.

If not, she reasoned, it was only a matter of time until he attacked another village anyway, so: it wouldn’t make much difference. She would keep telling herself that, and hope to succeed in leaving the dragon none the wiser.

“It’s only a necklace! It’s not worth it!”

It was much more than a necklace. It was showing the dragon that she could beat him. It was showing herself that she would not live in fear any more. It was showing her dead family that she would strike a blow in retribution for them. It was not justice, but it was at least something. It was most definitely worth the risk of dying. Especially as she planned not to.

She ran through the checklist in her head one more time to be sure.

Scent covered. This was crucial. Her practice trips to the cleft above the cave which is the dragons’s lair had taught her the smells of his home. She smelled of old roasted meat, of damp straw and of gold. This was achieved by storing her clothes in a sack with pieces of these things, and carrying them now in the pockets of her clothes.

Clothing and hair colouring that will blend into the slightest of shadows, and make barely a sound.

She had made the clothes herself, woven from soft wool for it’s silent flexibility. An advantage was that if it got wet, it would smell like a wet dog, not like her!

Her clothes were sewn with many pockets to hold all her equipment. She had collected an impressive array of gadgets over the years, preparing for all kinds of eventualities.

Her body was trained like an athlete: she would be able to move quickly, deftly, and quietly.

She had practiced dance, flight and fighting skills. She was light and graceful in her movements. This also helped reduce sound.

She had the special pouch she had made to carry the necklace close to her body. Even if he caught her, he wouldn’t easily find her treasure.

Best of all, she had learned magic and practiced her spells until they came automatically. She would be able to use them, no matter the crisis.

She hoped she had thought of everything.

She shook her whole body, unfurling her wings to get any kinks out of her muscles. She folded them again.

She was ready. There was nothing else to prepare.

She peered through the cleft at the top of the cave, the smells wafting into her nostrils, but no longer assaulting them. They were familiar now. Knowing they would protect her was a comfort. The dragon was not in his lair. Now was the time.

Before she could remember any hesitations, she pushed herself through the space between the rocks and glided on her wings, angling them to steer towards the front of the pile.

As the dragon raided villages, she had observed that he dumped his new spoils at the end of the pile closest to the door. It seemed lazy, careless, like nothing mattered, it was just one huge heap of things. It meant that the millions of stolen treasures were in chronological order, except for the muddling of movement. Calculating the rough volume she had observed him drop, and knowing how many raids since her village, she knew roughly where the necklace would be.

As she reached the hoard, she realised how foolish she had been! As well as the distance from the cave entrance, there was the depth and breadth of the pile to sort through!

She reminded herself to breathe carefully to stay calm. If she looked today and didn’t find it, she could leave before the dragon returned, and have a better idea of where to look next time.

She comforted herself with this idea, as she methodically searched the nearest side of the pile. She could still make a quick getaway from here.

She was absorbed in her search, forgetting to be slow and silent, when she suddenly realised the noise she heard outside was the dragon returning.

“Live to fight another day!” she reminded herself as she leaped into the air and flew as fast as she could to the cleft, angling herself through it to the safety of the outside.

She rested for a moment, breathing heavily while watching for the dragon to come out of the cave to find her. He didn’t.

When she was calm again, she leaned in to check.

The dragon was sniffing where she had been searching. He moved the pile around with one massive claw. With a motion resembling a shrug, he lifted his wings and flew up onto the top of the pile. Items rolled and scattered as he wriggled into his hoard like a nest, or a soft bed.

“I didn’t take that much movement into account,” she thought, “I’ll check the outer edges next time.”

Knowing the dragon wouldn’t leave again before dawn, she flew home.

“He’s resting. I will too!”

Flying onto the balcony of her tiny apartment, she nodded at some neighbours who waved as she passed. The people of her adopted village didn’t have wings. Some of them resented her, and thought her wings were unnatural. Most of them were nice enough people, though. She hoped she didn’t get them killed.

“None of that thinking!” she chided herself.

A hot epsom salt bath ensured that her muscles would be in good form tomorrow.

She really meant to rest very well, but she tossed and turned anxiously, reliving the dragon’s visit to her village as well as her visit to his lair in her dreams.

She rose with the sun to get some relief from resting unsuccessfully. The dragon wouldn’t leave his lair for hours yet. He seemed to like the heat of the day on his reptilian body.

It wouldn’t hurt to learn some more about him while he slept.

Tabba made her way to the top of the mountain by both foot and wing. Exercising and resting both sets of muscles. She was as prepared as yesterday, with the additional confidence of one search and successful escape. She had also brought provisions. She intended to picnic between observations.

Reaching the cleft and peering in, Tabba was surprised that the dragon was not on his mound of treasure. She hadn’t known he went out before noon. She thought he slept until then.

Perhaps this was an extra opportunity! She hadn’t seen or heard him anywhere in the countryside on her way there. She couldn’t see him in his lair. Now was a perfect time!

Leaving her provisions outside, Tabba pushed through the cleft, took one more look around, and glided down.

This time starting at the edge, she soon found it.

She squealed involuntarily as she snatched it up, examining it closely to make sure it really was her grandmother’s necklace. Yes! There was that small nick in the gold that she used to run her finger over. The gem seemed smaller now that she was bigger, but this was it!

The mound of treasure was moving! Items were cascading downward, clinking and tinkling as they reached other pieces of treasure. Tabba was frozen in place.

No! Surely not!

The dragon was right there! He had, indeed, been sleeping, but buried inside the mound of treasure! Now he emerged and was crawling across the top. He’d almost reached her!

She staggered backwards in shock, twisting her ankle. Swearing under her breath at her stupidity, her lack of caution, and now her lack of coordination, she regained her footing and pocketed the necklace.

“What are you doing here?” He sounded more puzzled than angry. It was inconceivable to him that an edible creature would be inside his lair. It had never happened before. Every now and then some came looking to steal from him, but he smelled and heard them coming, and enjoyed the tasty snack.

He sniffed the air ferociously. “Why can’t I smell you?” He demanded.

He kept sniffing. “I smell your lunch!” He was truly surprised now. He followed the scent of Tabba’s picnic to the cleft.

“That’s how you got in!” Now he was becoming angry.

He roared flame at the cleft, but it wasn’t hot enough to melt the rock.

“Note to self,” thought Tabba, “his flame is colder in the morning.”

This must be why he doesn’t fly out until later - his flame needs to heat up!

While he was temporarily occupied with the discovery of the cleft, she took off, flying for the cave entrance instead.

Her wings were so much smaller than his, she could not outfly him. But she could make a start!

The dragon realised that she was escaping, and turned to follow her, scattering treasures as he slid through them in his haste to reach the low entrance.

Reaching the entrance, she threw a quick spell to create a barrier at the entrance. She didn’t know how long it would hold against dragon fire, even cooler morning dragon fire, but it was worth a try!

It held for long enough for her to reach a rocky outcrop out of the dragon’s line of sight. She paused, calculating. She made a run for another outcrop of rocks that she knew hid the entrance to another cave. She was inside before the dragon reached her, but in her haste, caught one wing as she squeezed through the entrance, almost wrenching it from it’s socket.

“His flames are heating up!” she mused, as she felt the air behind her grow decidedly warm. She kept going on foot, limping and leaning on walls, glad that she had explored all these possible hiding places earlier.

This cave included tunnels which meandered most of the way to town. She hoped the dragon didn’t know that, and would stay at the entrance, trying to burn her out. She hoped he didn’t melt it closed, though! She might need it again one day!

Her pace seemed excruciatingly slow, but Tabba pressed onwards. “No point stopping in here!” she reasoned.

The ground above her shook slightly. The dragon was on the rampage overhead, trying to find her, furious that she had taken something, even though he probably had no idea what. Could he tell where she was, even though she was underground?

She realised that she mustn’t lead him to the village. She must draw him away!

She took a tunnel in another direction. She wasn’t sure where it led, but it wasn’t to her village. After a few minutes, she realised he wasn’t following, the overhead rumbles were fading.

She started singing at the top of her lungs.

“Oh! The mighty dragon, terrifying and huge.

Oh! The mighty dragon, tyrant that he is.

Oh! The mighty dragon, killer and thief.

Oh! The mighty dragon, outsmarted by a tiny girl!”

She must have been loud enough. His roaring as well as the rumbling earth of his pounding feet were heading her way.

She kept singing and moving away from the village.

“Oh! The mighty dragon, terrifying and huge.

Oh! The mighty dragon, tyrant that he is.

Oh! The mighty dragon, killer and thief.

Oh! The mighty dragon, outsmarted by a tiny girl!”

She liked her song!

He roared in outrage! He was still following. This was good. She couldn’t keep leading him to her, though!

She wasn’t sure how much longer these tunnels went, or where else they might come out. She also didn’t want to lead him to any other village.

She saw an opportunity ahead. There was daylight through a small fissure in the rocky roof, meaning that sounds would more easily reach the dragon. These tunnels were too small for him to have been inside and know the layout. The fissure gave her an idea.

Time to fake a rock fall, and her own demise.

Tabba continued to sing loudly, taunting the dragon to both lure him and muddle his thinking with emotion. She used her torch to find a likely target. She stopped moving near the fissure, and kept singing. She waited.

She heard the dragon stop overhead, sniffing and snarling in frustration.

Almost silent, she used a spell and her slingshot to start a rockslide in a nearby alcove. She screamed as though in mortal danger, then muffled, and suddenly silenced. Amidst the falling rock, it was quite convincing.

Tabba quickly covered her face with a cloth and enchanted it to keep the dust away. This wouldn’t work if she started coughing.

She sat down quietly. She concentrated on slowing her heart and her breathing, so she would be less noticable. "Think of happy things," she reminded herself, feeling her mind and body relax, her heart rate returning to it's usual quiet.

Some rest would do her good, and the dragon would have nothing to follow. Hopefully all he was smelling now was rock dust.

Tabba breathed carefully, and focussed on gratitude for her success so far. She envisioned her next steps: once the dragon left, she would follow the tunnels back to near her village and then get herself home.

She heard him, still sniffing. By now the smell of her own sweat would be mixed with the cover smells. She inched closer to the rock fall for better camouflage, very glad that her enchanted mask not only filtered the dust particles, but actively repelled them. It should also be keeping the smell of her breath from drifting too far.

The dragon roared in anger. He couldn’t find her.

“I know you’re not dead,” his anger seethed through the fissure, “I will find you!”

She wished he was bluffing.

He flew off, the ground trembling from the force of his takeoff. Tabba could hear the creak of his huge leathery wings as he left, and a gust of air from the force of them came through the fissure.

“Well that’s good,” she thought, “some of the rock dust from the collapse should also have reached up to him. Should be convincing!”

She stopped dead, with the immediate danger passed, she realised: “He noticed me.” Her plan had included this not happening. What would happen to the villages?

Paralysed with dread, she couldn’t move. Her mind raced. Perhaps she could warn the villagers in time for them to run and hide in the forest?

She looked up at the fissure above. It seemed big enough. With difficulty with an injured wing, she used her grappling gun for assistance and flew up, and was able to squeeze through. It bruised her wings, but that wasn’t important. Gritting her teeth she kept going.

She saw the dragon searching a nearby village from the air. He wasn’t attacking. He wasn’t going to kill everyone! She didn't know why, but it was enough that he wasn't. She almost fainted, her relief was so overwhelming.

She pulled herself together and squeezed back into the cavernous tunnels. It might take longer, but would be safer and she could rest on the way.

It was afternoon by the time she reached her village. From where she left the cave, she made her way through the forest, and stayed close to buildings, hiding as much as she could while pushing forward.

Panting and favouring one foot, she turned the corner of her apartment building, grabbed the edge of the dumpster, dragged herself around it, and sagged against the wall in relief.

"He won't find me now!" she tried to convince herself, closing her eyes. "That smell’s bad enough to hide me!"

She heard the swooping sound of giant leathery wings as a huge shadow passed overheard, circling, searching. She held her breath. She heard him snort in disgust. He kept flying.

He wasn't destroying her village, or the other one. Great!

She would think about this more later. For now, she just needed to finish what she was doing.

She twitched her bruised wings into a more comfortable position against the brickwork, wincing.

"It was worth a few small injuries," she thought, with a small, satisfied smile.

Not only had she snuck into the cave piled with riches, she had escaped with her grandmother's ruby necklace! A poor compensation for the loss of her home and her loved ones, but it was a victory. A defiance. It gave her hope.

The dragon who destroyed her village could not destroy her resolve.

Her eyes opened involuntarily: She could do it again! Next time she’d do better. She’d take all she could carry!

Gathering strength, she found a crevice in the brickwork and made it bigger, slid the necklace into the resulting niche and covered it with fairy dust and a spell. Undetectable! Just keeping it away from that tyrant was an act of rebellion. She didn't need to press her luck by wearing it. Even if she never managed another raid she had achieved her vengeance.

Gradually her breathing slowed. It wasn't over yet, but she had a reprieve.

Best of all, no one was hurt. She winced as she moved. Well, not seriously.

Listening and watching, nursing one wing, she heaved herself from her hiding place and limped towards the Doctor’s rooms. She imagined her next excursion to the dragon's lair. She smiled, and her lightened heart lightened her steps.

Short Story
2

About the Creator

Lisbeth Stewart

Long time writer, recent publisher.

Humanist, budget traveller, #Vanlife, mother, homemaker, quilter, beginning gardener.

Former Social Worker, Teacher, Public Servant, Roustabout and various other adventures.

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