Little Rider

I am no mother.

My heart longs for nothing but revenge, for the screams of my enemies, as they cry out for death, if only to escape my wrath.

‘Mercy’ is not a word I employ. And yet, as I stare down at the child in my home, I am struck anew.

With what? Something I’ve only ever felt once, many moons ago, when I had my eggs—my three.

Before they were taken from me.

Chubby legs stick out from the bottom of a too-small tunic. Small feet slap on the dust and ash of my cave.

He must be no older than two turns. What was he doing in the woods alone? It is an unusual thing, to find a child so young on its own. The humans are communal creatures, much unlike us, who prefer lives set apart. They don’t leave their young, not willingly. Not unless there’s something terribly wrong with them.

My eyes gravitate back to the child, commanding my attention as he beats a rock against the skull of the last human who had the boldness to enter my home.

Crack, crack, crack.

The boy giggles.

They must have left this one on purpose; he’s mad.

Or, I chide myself, he’s two. And a human two is much the same as a hatchling, minutes after entering the world. He doesn’t know. He cannot know.

I stretch my neck forward, my scales shimmering in the low light. One of them catches his eye. My head is level to the ground now, and the boy toddles over, clumsy and—he falls. His chin smacks the stone and blood flows from the wound.

He begins to wail.

I feel smoke billow in my throat, the noise producing in me such a malevolence all I can think is to burn him, just make it STOP. I close my eyes, wrestling the flames back to sleep; they do not control me, they do not control—

A soft touch presses my snout.

My eyes fly open and although I can’t see him, for he stands so small, I feel his tiny palm on my scales. I open my maw, only marginally, so the boy does not fear, and feel the remains of the smoke escape heavenward. The flame cools and crawls back, deep in its home in my chest.

Then the boy is climbing.

I have never been climbed before. Uncomfortable though it is, I find myself indulging him. How interesting, this tiny creature hasn’t a clue how dangerous I am. There is no fear in his movements. His foot finds purchase in my nostril. I have to hold in a sneeze, worried I will fry him to a crisp if I let it out.

He scrambles to the top of my head, right between my eyes, and I lower my head further to the ground until my chin and neck lay on the stone. At least falling from this height wouldn’t be fatal. I roll my eyes, releasing a steady sigh as I settle into the position, careful not to cast him headlong off me.

The boy babbles something incoherent, laughs, and slides down to the tip of my nose. He went backward so he’s facing me still, belly pressed onto the bridge of my nose, legs and arms snuggled tight against me.

It’s there he falls asleep.

It’s there I fall in love.

It’s then when they arrive.

I don’t even have to open my lids, I can hear them outside. They’re too frightened to come in and I don’t blame them. No one who has come in goes out again, I make sure of it.

Well, I feel the small weight pressing into the bridge of my nose, breathing deep and sure, not everyone, I suppose.

I cannot keep him, I know that. Delusion is reserved for man, and I am a higher race.

I must decide, however difficult it may be. Returning the boy to them may bolster the humans to the point of fantastical stupidity—they will come back to kill me, emboldened by the boy’s survival.

But to kill the boy?

I close my eyes, just for a moment, and count his breaths.

No. That is not an option either.

Smoke begins to roll up my throat as the humans outside chatter in their primitive speech. They are truly the loudest of all races, and would never believe it if you told them either. I smother the fire that prods me, urging me to release it and embody that which I am.

Destruction.

Revenge.

Death.

I never found who stole my children, those many years ago. But I do know it was man. Snuffing out their insignificance, my only comfort in this life, forsaken as it is.

The humans enter the mouth of my cave. They must be a brave lot, this one. They will find me soon, with this boy. I cannot let them, not like this. But how can I release him? In a mere night he has become bound to me, and I will not lose him.

Yes, I decide, as the voices grow and the amber glow of distant torches lead their way, I will mark him a rider.

The ritual is simple, a few words, ash spread on the boy’s forehead, blood from the boy on my scales. I shift my maw, his feather-light head lolls to the side, his chin paints my scale red.

Within a breath something deep and resounding floods me, more than the flame, more than the lust for blood. A safety net, a low keen of belonging—my boy, my rider.

Startling awake, he wails, but it stirs up only empathy.

Deep inside I say the words directly into his mind as the feet of the foolish people stumble and shriek through my home.

I know, little rider, I know it hurts. But it will be nothing to you but a scar of remembrance of this day. Come find me, when you are older and you are able. I will be waiting.

Just before the torchlight brings me into view, I am gone through the back of the cave, leaving him to weep and be comforted by an embrace that is not mine. It’s a pain that lances deeper than death, this I have known four times.

I am no mother, not truly.

But my heart beats with the knowledge that I have him.

Until we meet again, little rider.