Little Flame

There weren’t always dragons in the valley, at least that’s what they thought, and with some good fortune and timing these ignorant villagers, will never know how close they’ve been.

Holding her daughter’s hand tightly, the mother strained to hear the sound she was dreading. For nearly ten years now they had lived in their small village, and the people there had been warm and accepting of a husbandless mother and her child. Walking quickly toward the top of the mountain trail, they came to the clearing and the ridge that they had visited many times before, to watch the sun set behind the distant mountains. The mother would tell her child of the place she was from, far beyond the horizon, of a different life, a different world. Sitting down on the edge of the cliff, watching the sun sink below the distant tree line, the mother began to speak. “Olga, I know you are scared, but I have explained everything you need to know. This day was unavoidable, the only thing I could not know was exactly when; time had to play its part.” She said, “I may have underestimated how strongly they would react.”

The woman thought about her good fortune finding this isolated village, all those years before. She and her infant daughter were accepted warmly and quickly became part of the community. As time went by, the villagers came to rely on her healing balms and ointments, her herbal remedies; they were hard working people, and she was glad to be helpful. Perhaps that was where she failed, she made friends with them, knowing in her heart that no matter how much they relied on her and no matter how she blended into their simple existence, her true self would always be too much for them to understand.

“Mother, I am scared. I don’t want to. Why do they hate us?” the young girl asked. Olga had recently turned thirteen and something changed. Her friends began treating her differently and one by one they stopped being friendly. Some of them, even her very best friend, turned on her, accusing her of such horrible things. Some of these things, were about her father, that he was a gypsy, a thief, some even calling him a monster. How can they know more about her absent father than she did? Her mother would tell her that they were only ignorant fearful people, and fearful people made up tales to explain what they could not understand. As for her father, she said little, except that he was ‘exceptional’. What did that even mean? When Olga pressed for more information, her mother would say nothing, only that they would be together again soon.

This was a sufficient answer for five-year-old Olga, even ten-year-old Olga, but thirteen-year-old Olga was growing tired of the mystery and would occasionally project her disappointment in unusual and unexpected ways. First it was small barely noticeable things. She once got angry and tried to imagine her mother’s favourite pot smashing, and it did. A broom that was leaning on the wall nearby, fell and knocked it to the floor. Olga was amused but felt no responsibility for smashing the pot, she hadn’t been concentrating on the broom. Her mother still scolded her for it.

The most telling time was very recent. After having an argument with her former best friend Kalina, defending her mother over the lies her friend was telling her, Olga burst through her front door and turned around putting all her thoughts toward slamming it in Kalina’s face. It did slam shut and broke a pane of glass, showering Kalina with tiny shards. Olga did not think she had anything to do with the door closing and put it down to a gust of wind. This did not stop Kalina from calling her a witch. That story spread quickly which cut ties to the few remaining friends she had. The change had come quickly, over a few short weeks. Olga had gone from beloved friend and neighbour to young witch in less than a month. Her mother showed no surprise, as though she knew it would come.

While Olga was being ostracised and ridiculed, bullied and left out, her mother was suffering similar grief from the elders of the village. Whispers of witchcraft and talk of strange smells coming from their home. People stopped buying the vegetables and herbs and remedies her mother produced, fearing that she would put a spell on them or poison them. Their years of quiet acceptance, turned to whispers and sniggering, the whispers becoming direct accusations, the sniggering now jeers. The mother now feared for her daughter’s safety.

Quietly Olga’s mother finally answered her last question. “It’s because you’re different, my love. People fear different. You have a power within you, and they can see it, they see your glow.”

“What do you mean glow?” Olga asked quizzically.

Once again, her mother went silent. Olga watched her face intently, waiting for more, but her mother was listening. Then the young girl heard something. It began as a low sound, a distant sound, but it was growing and getting nearer. Once more, her mother spoke, this time with an urgency and fear that Olga had never seen in her before, “It is nearly time. Remember what I told you, trust yourself. Just step off with me and you will live forever, if you don’t, they will kill you.”

A week earlier, Olga was confronted by the Monsignor of her church. The school was attending Friday mass and Monsignor was performing the service. This was highly unusual, the lower priests looked after the less important services, the very early services, funerals for less important villagers. For him to perform the mass for the local school was unheard of. Other than his presence, rites and rituals went as normal, as they had for centuries. When it came time for the sermon, a heavy silence fell over the congregation, like the air had been sucked out of the room and everyone was holding their breath. Except Olga, she was unaware there was a shift. Then, as the priest began the sermon and started bleating about original sin and heaven and hell, red in the face and just short of screaming. When she heard him speak of casting demons back to hell, Olga looked up and realised, he was speaking directly at her. The young girl looked around as she felt the gaze of the whole congregation upon her. What were they looking at, she thought? Standing up and fighting back tears she made her way to the side of her pew. The other students were muttering to each other, she could not discern their words, but she knew their intent. As she stepped into the aisle, her teacher, Sister Maria, scowled and spat on the floor near her. Why? She thought, I am the same person! What have I done? Olga ran home.

Sitting on the cliff edge, the pair heard a movement behind them to the right and with little sound or effort her mother was gone, leaving Olga alone. She tried to piece together all the changes that led to this day. Things she had noticed, like her skin being warm, no matter how cold the day was. The dreams: she found herself dreaming of floating above her bed, watching her own body as it slept. Floating through the small streets and alleys of her village, swooping the old man sleeping in the square, making the banners and flags flutter as she passed them, hovering over Kalina’s house, wishing she could set it alight. That last thought frightened her. How could she think such horrible things? She also dreamt about a man; a strong man, with hair that sparkled in the light, so you could not tell what colour it actually was. His eyes were lit as if from within.

Closing her eyes, reciting the instructions her mother had been repeating for the last few days, she was doubting her ability to go through with it. Perhaps her mother had gone insane and wanted them to die together before the townsfolk got them. What if her mother was a witch, and she was paying the price for being her daughter? She knew deep down to trust her mother, especially since she had lost the trust of everybody else she knew. Maybe they were the mad ones?

From the bushes behind her, she heard a small voice speak her name. It was Drago, a boy about her own age, a poor boy, who was treated like an idiot by most people, but not by Olga. She saw something more in Drago and could never bring herself to be mean to him. “Olga, I want to help you.” He whispered. She started to get up to go to him, when he came crashing through the bushes and sprawling on the ground with her mother close behind holding a large branch. She had hit him and knocked him unconscious.

“Mother, why? It is just Drago! He wants to help.” The woman leant over the boy to assess any harm she had caused him, then seeing that he was still breathing, raised the branch over him to finish what she had started. Olga screamed and threw herself over the injured boy.

Her mother stopped and stepped back. “Olga, my love, we can’t trust him, he will tell them what we are, they have to think we’re dead. He can’t know” she pleaded with the sobbing girl.

“Then we’ll go now, before he recovers.” Olga said, with a certainty she did not feel moments earlier.

The woman took her daughter’s hand once more and they approached the ledge, the mother was waiting for something. She peered dangerously over the edge and said to Olga, “the time is right. Remember, you are like a fledgling eagle and today you take your first flight. Do not fear my love, it will happen, you will know what to do. Tomorrow is a better day.”

They both looked over the edge again and Olga noticed a fog had rolled into the deep valley below and a strong breeze was pushing up the face of the cliff. With the sound of the crowd nearing, they stepped off and began the descent down the rock face. As their speed increased and the fog drew nearer, the mother released her grip on Olga. In fright she looked over to her mother to try to grab hold, but her mother was no longer there, she had changed. Olga was now staring into the eyes of a beautiful dragon, her scales colourful and luminous in the waning sunlight. With this she felt herself changing. Pain seared through her body, her limbs contorted, and she felt an intense burning from within. “Mother, I’m scared. Help me.” She screamed. The dragon simply smiled and said, “you will be fine my love, trust yourself. This is the only way to make the change, as I had to, as your father had to, as it has been done for eons.”

They continued descending and time seemed to slow down. Everything was slowing down. The cliff face was not rushing past, the fog was not speeding toward her anymore. She looked to her mother once more and realised her arms were no longer arms, they were wings and time had not slowed, she had slowed and was now gliding. She felt the air in her wings and catching an updraft started ascending again. “Careful my darling, we must leave. If they see us, it will cause panic. They will hunt us.”

“Oh Mother, I feel wonderful. Why aren’t we like this all the time. I wish I could have done this sooner” the young dragon exclaimed.

“Time my darling. There is a time for everything and in time you will learn much. How to change from one form to the other. How to improve your flight. How to conceal your glow.” Her mother said beaming with delight.

“But I want to stay like this forever. I feel… exceptional,” the young one cried, joyful tears streaming from her eyes.

“You are your father’s daughter, but it is not a safe way for us to live. Now is a time for escape. We must stay low in the fog or high in the clouds. We must reach your father before dawn.

The moon hung large in the night sky and together they swooped and soared, the older one teaching and observing, the young one stretching her wings, testing herself. Silently and effortlessly, Olga discovered her true self. In the dark, her vision was clear as day, she could see everything. Scraping over treetops at incredible speed then zooming up, up, up, slowly coming to a stop, hanging for a moment then dropping fast. She tucked her wings in against her body and her speed increased again. All the while her mother was there with her, by her side for every swoop and turn, guiding her. They spoke but no words were uttered, and Olga did not question how, she was enjoying her new freedom too much.

The thin light of dawn could be seen rising on the far horizon behind them and the mother told the daughter, they were near. In the distance, a mountain loomed before them and circling around to the far side, they could see a fire burning on the cliff edge, and getting nearer still, Olga could see the shape of a man standing near it. “Mother there is someone waiting for us,” she said.

“I am your father, little flame. I have waited so long to see you again.” Olga heard in her mind, as if he were standing in front of her. Then she heard her mother, instructing her how to land safely, and above the ridge they came, their wings wide to glide in and a flourish of flapping to a gentle stop.

Olga was exhausted and as she collapsed to the ground, she felt her transformation to human form begin. Through searing pain, she could see her naked mother embracing the man, her father. Her mother came to her with a large winter coat and wrapped her in it, accepting one for herself from the man. “Olga, my love, I am so happy to see you, I am so very proud,” he said, embracing her in his strong arms. “I know it is difficult to accept, but this is who you are.” Olga, too tired to comprehend much more than the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms around her, relaxed into him and hugged him back.

The father scooped up the child and carried her to the fireside laying her down on a simple mat and covering her with a blanket to keep out the dawn chill. Leaving her there to sleep, the husband and wife retreated into the cave behind them.

On this side of the mountain, morning shadows stayed long, and the sun was high in the sky when Olga awoke. Stretching her body after sleep, her limbs ached, and she groaned with every movement. “Your body will adjust, the change will become easier, and your muscles will be ready,” her mother was beside her waiting to greet her sleeping child.

“This was not a dream? The flying, the dragons! The mind talking!” Olgas groggy brain deciphering dream from reality. “Then my father?”

“Yes, my love, I am real. You are such a brave girl.” He had been standing behind them, near the dying fire. “We have much to talk about. You must tell me everything about yourself and I will help you understand and answer all your questions.”

Olga slowly turned to see the man who she could not see, through tired eyes and darkness, the night before. She recognised him, she knew him, whether from dream or distant memory, she did not know. Standing on shaky legs, she moved to him. “Father, I know you, though Mother has kept you secret.” Looking up into his green eyes, she asked, “are you a dragon too?” They stayed silent in that moment, she knew he was, she could see his glow.

The night before, on the edge of a cliff, on the side of a distant mountain, a young boy was being picked up from the ground where he lay. He had been hit from behind and left for dead. The crowd of villagers, carrying weapons and torches, gathered around him, his mother pushed through to comfort her injured son. “What happened here boy?” demanded one of the village elders.

“Clearly, he was attacked by that witch,” his mother cried.

“I was trying to save Olga,” a dazed Drago said. “I think they jumped off the cliff,” he continued, crying now.

From the cliff ledge, someone called, “the fog is too thick. We cannot see.” A murmur went through the crowd. Talk of murder and suicide, tragic loss, ‘the girl deserved to live’. Satisfied that they bore no blame and nothing more was to be done, the crowd slowly thinned, making its way back to town. A few of the townsfolk, spitting over the edge of the mountain as a mark of disgust to the woman who would murder her own child.

Drago’s mother, still cradling her son’s head in her lap, looked into his eyes and smiled. It was a sad smile, one of acceptance and realisation. “Mother, why are you smiling? Olga is gone and those people made it happen.”

“My love, Olga is not gone. She lives. Her mother lives, and very soon you will get to live as well. We will have to leave this place, just as they did. Perhaps more discretely.” His mother explained, “we are of an ancient kind, who used to live freely among men, but now they fear us, they thought we wished to rule them and drove us into hiding. They greedily scratch around the ground and lay claim to things they don’t rightfully own, in the name of the king or the flag or God, all things made up to justify their ill deeds. We wish to own nothing but our freedom. Sadly, to claim our freedom, sometimes we must hide among them, even from each other, until the time is right. Your time is nearly here, and soon you may see Olga again. You knew she was special, and she you, that is why you looked out for one another, even if it was in the shadows or the bushes.

“What am I?’ he asked.

“I won’t speak any more of this. First, I need to tell you about where we are from. When the time is right you will know what you are.”

Slowly, they got up and made their way to the cliff’s edge. Sitting down, they looked out into the darkness. His mother began to speak. She spoke of people and places he had never heard of, growing up in their tiny, isolated village. She spoke of ancient times and festivals of fire and colour held in the skies above, and she told him that he would be accepted as an equal among his own kind, not cast aside as a poor fool by these simple scared humans. Holding his hand tightly, she looked across at her young man, seeing him glow for the first time and said, “there is little humanity in humans. The animals show more care for each other, but don’t hate them, pity them, for soon you will soar above them. The time for the gathering is nearly upon us and hopefully you will be ready to join your true family.”