The Dragon Mother

Dragons were a fairy-tale woven by the mothers of unruly children; little boys insistent on adventure and little girls driven to spit at authority, to terrify them into doing as instructed. “Don’t go into the woods without your father, or a dragon will gobble you up!” an exhausted mother would shout at her son, fighting with sticks in the yard. “Don’t you disobey me young lady, or a dragon will seize you in the night!” as she sternly reprimanded her daughter for shirking her chores.

Dragons were real in the past, yet arrogance and fear drove them to extinction. The most majestic creature on the planet, put to the sword and executed simply for the crime of defiance against humanity’s self-declared supremacy. Relegated to the annals of history, the songs, the bones, the stories - so they transformed into ethereal legend, never to be witnessed again.

Young Shauna, daughter of royalty, had heard the stories from her surrogate mother in a bid to earn her father’s approval, and to instil a lady’s propriety into his defiant daughter. She did her best to adhere - to avoid the wrath of her father and scorn of her new mother - but when she inevitably slipped, she felt the sting of failure branded onto her identity. Upon the arrival of the new royal son, with his azure eyes and golden hair, the innocent Shauna was all but forgotten about; a ghost left to haunt the halls of the castle.

But death, marriage, abandonment; these are convoluted concepts for a child to comprehend. Her mother was gone forever, but she could not understand the impact of her absence. Her father married another woman, but she could not understand why her new mother despised her. Her family rejected her, but she did not understand why her brother was more favourable.

And so it was for poor Shauna, a daughter invisible to her family, a child invisible to her protectors, the whole world indifferent to her existence.

-=-

The royals, in honour of their new son, embarked upon the forest with their entourage of knights and soldiers, hunters and cooks, servants one and all: a royal retinue united to subjugate nature under its heel once more. The purpose of their visit was to bring down a stag of Stygian dark, with antlers wide enough to cusp the sun - a suitable beast to be butchered in honour of the new prince.

Their campsite was carved deep into the land: weeping abrasions where tree stumps were ripped from the ground, blackened scars where the fire burnt away the thorns. The corpses of trees had been fashioned into guard towers, all the while their feathered occupants cried in despair over smashed eggshells - only to be skewered and sentenced to the flames. Killed in the name of peckishness.

Moonlight descended, sentries posted, protection guaranteed - for all but dear little Shauna, ignored by all. She was too young to yet be indoctrinated and crushed by a world designed to ravage her, so there she balanced at the precipice of innocence.

One side of the camp was inhabited by enormous stumps too large to be uprooted, guarding a steep descent into the raging rapids at the base of the cliff: it was here that the lonely Shauna found herself. Peering over the edge, she could glimpse the moon churning and tearing within the frenzied waves, unable to reform into what it was meant to be. Above in the heavens, it seemed more like a dazzling pearl, untarnished and unreachable by that which could fracture its perfection.

A piercing bestial cry punctured through the silent night.

She begrudgingly tore her eyes from the sky to turn towards the sound of clanking thuds behind her:

“You, girl, get back in your tent…”

His gruff barking faded into a whimper as he stared beyond her, fleeing back into the sea of canvas and screaming something she could not hear over that same cry from moments ago. She quizzically returned her gaze to the night sky, only to be greeted by a colossal beast.

Vast, imposing, and fast, talons outstretched; murky claws grasped her tiny body, and away the ground melted. A sharp shriek escaped her throat before the wind and strength of the monster robbed her of a voice; the soldiers transformed into ants, the soaring pines became grass blades, the clamour of the campsite replaced by a vicious, howling wind. Immobilised, she could faintly hear the purposeful beating of impossibly large wings as the currents incessantly slashed and tore at her.

Away they soared, to the peak of a mountain, ivory granite protruding from the forest clinging to its base. Near the top was a gaping chasm, which the creature effortlessly flew into, releasing the frightened Shauna from its grasp.

Petrification blanketed her body, eradicating her routine apathy into manic sobbing. Its ebony frame dwarfed her, she was no bigger than the horn on its head. Its wings were leathery, ending in more sharp appendages. Most dreadful of all were the eyes; glowing, golden, astute, monitoring its prey with a feline precision.

She was much too young to realise, but there was no malice in that stare, no hunger, no death. The magnificent visage of a dragon would be awe-inducing to anyone, let alone to a world that had confined them to mythos, but to a sheltered young child growing up in a castle with no idea of true hardship, the fear washed through her amply. She scampered deeper, falling over herself in an effort to escape the nightmare, diving into a cubby in the wall to escape the claws and wings, the teeth and talons, the fire and death.

The dragon did not follow; Shauna caught the raspy exhale of its rancid breath - the stench saturating the chill coolness of the cave - and heard the unmistakable shifting and grating of scales against the rock. A spark of courage pushed her to peek at the monster, enwreathed against itself like a tremendous cat, though one of its eyes remained open; a beacon to observe any potential movement, extinguishing any pluckish impulses and inviting a retreat into her burrow.

Within her alcove, she cradled herself for warmth and comfort. Beads of sweat traced her body; afflicted with shivering and trembling, the air in her lungs rapidly escaped. Exhaustion wracked every bone in her body, the dark corners of her sight slowly encompassed her as she grasped her legs, and she succumbed to her overwhelming fatigue.

-=-

Plagued with nightmares of being eaten, the girl awoke in an outburst, tumbling from her burrow. The thumping in her chest slowed as quickly as it started when she saw that the terror from last night was gone. The exit was unguarded! Hope kindled in her heart, and she clambered towards the gaping scar - to be greeted by a sheer drop.

Her heart sank as far as the cliff extended, meaning to say she would assuredly perish if lack of reason possessed her in that moment. The tempests whistled mockingly at the girl without wings. Though she could not entirely conceptualise the nuances of the thought, the cruel irony of a prison with no door was not lost on her, even as a child.

Tears streaming onto her smeared cheeks, she stumbled back into the cave to wallow without the jeering sneers of the mountain gales. The harsh rays of the early morning sun seemed offensive, given the bleakness of her situation. In her sorrow, she tripped and fell to her knees, grazing her palms and knees. The throbbing stings the pain evoked transformed her silent tears into body-wrenching bawling, clutching her face in despair. This cruel brute was toying with her as a cat torments a mouse it’s already cornered; she was living on borrowed time.

In wiping her face, her sight had adjusted to the dark corner of the cave. Dressed in gloom and covered in scale scars, it seemed to persist with the rest of the cave’s appearance, with one notable exception.

It was tiny: its head was no larger than her fist, the entire thing wouldn’t reach to her ankles. The bones of this dragon lay sprawled among scarlet shards of its own eggshell, her captor’s child. The girl did not know much, but she knew that the mother ducks of the castle garden lay eggs, so it seemed reasonable to believe that her captor was also a mother.

A bereaved mother. Here lay a memento to the greatest tragedy of parenthood - outliving your child. The girl recalled her own mother’s last words, how she expressed how sorry she was for leaving her daughter so soon, how she wouldn’t be there to teach and protect her.

How they would not see each other again.

The girl turned her head; the dragon had silently slinked back into the cave, gazing at her intently. She sensed no venom from her, somewhat understanding the sadness this mother must feel, even if in her own naive way. Perhaps the girl was not being antagonised, perhaps this was a mother lashing out at a world that ruled indiscriminately, bestowing evil and charity on the flip of a coin.

She approached with the unabashed confidence and unease only unmarked childhood could muster. Against the striking daylight, the menacing monster that seized her last night metamorphosed into a legend, the shimmering copper skin lending it an ethereal mythos. The horns, claws, and teeth that inspired intimidation now evoked an organic beauty.

The dragon’s gaze never faltered, never changed. A statue awaiting a response, hoping for an outcome that could not be spoken; the choice lay with the child. She stopped her advance, holding her palm straight out.

The starkness in her stare softened; the spiny muzzle embraced the soft vulnerable flesh. The dragon became a mother, the girl became a daughter; what was once lost had been reclaimed.

-=-

The vicious gusts that assailed the woman as a child had become more bearable with age; on especially gentle days it was more akin to a fair breeze. She stroked the crags and grooves of her mother’s mane, eliciting soft rumbles of approval. Riding on dragonback, viewing the world from unfathomable heights was exhilarating. Basking in the fluffy clouds, soaring through the rain. Sometimes, she felt she could reach the stars, those glimmering nuggets of true opulence.

Vast, powerful wings flanked her sides: the woman wondered what it would be like to fly of her own volition. She would never know, but it remained an amusing curiosity to ponder, nonetheless.

Under the dazzling light of the moon, they traversed the heavens to their destination. In her years since she was a child, she had gleaned knowledge from the forest to survive. The Central Chimps taught her to traverse the canopy, to fly without wings. The Jungle Tigers demonstrated the effectiveness of stealth to bring down your foe. The Kingfishers taught her to hunt fish, to have one strike be enough. The Children of the Forest taught her how to live in harmony with nature, to replace what she used, to treat the natural forces of the world with respect. And her mother - the fierce protector of their kingdom - taught her of the dangers of fire, and how to harness it to great effectiveness.

They had been waging a guerrilla war against the humans, the hunters, the poachers, the knights, the farmers; all of them set in harnessing and exploiting the natural world and its inhabitants to stand in defiance against their own mortality. The forest was their next target, but whilst the threat of an elusive dragon existed, their progress had been stunted: it posed too much of a risk to engage with in the open field.

The rumours of "the last living dragon" had enticed all walks of human: scholars, poachers, warriors, extravagants - glory hunters one and all. Whispers in the forest betrayed that they had set up a campsite in the plains skirting the eastern edge of the forest. They stayed above the clouds in an attempt to stay hidden, at least until they arrived at their target to exterminate the conquerors.

Her mother turned her head as a warning that their descent was imminent. In response, the woman wrapped her jacket around her before gripping the blades to confirm she was ready.

All at once, the majestic titan lurched forwards and plunged through the shroud masking their approach. Her bronze scales twinkled against the moonlight, capturing her full majesty - a legend to be feared and respected. Wings, teeth, fire, claws - the last of her kind, guardian of the weak, champion of the forest.

Breaking through the veil, swooping below to rain death upon the blasphemers of the natural world; a show of strength and might against those who would seek to conquer that which is not theirs. That was the plan: simple, powerful, effective.

And it failed.

Upon breaking cover, they were met with a sea of torches, marquees, tents, stakes, patrols - thousands of humans. A far greater force than they had expected - armed to the teeth, prepared for the worst, ready to kill.

The woman had no time to react as her mother screamed in agony - three ballista bolts had torn her left wing to shreds, and they crashed towards the earth. She was cast from her back in a torrent of blood and viscera, cracking bones in her chest and shattering her arm.

In a desperate attempt to save her, she attempted to close the distance between them, but received a swift bludgeon to the head. Immobilised, she faded in and out of consciousness as the ugly head of savagery clouded all with its sinister shadow.

Droves of men in shining armour charged the monster with spears, attacking from every angle, impossible to defend against. The ballistae were reloaded, releasing their terrible thorns into the beast’s neck and heart. The knights on their horses charged the demon with lances, thrusting deep their barbed tips into any area of resistance. Accompanying this massacre was a symphony of agonised howling. It was brutally silenced by a final bolt to the neck, replacing the cries of immeasurable pain with a wrenching gurgle as the brute choked on its own blood.

The salt of horror and grief drenched the woman’s skin. She mustered her rage to free herself of her captor, ripping at his face till it tore off. A paltry equivalent to the most atrocious murder of her mother. She ran towards her, casting herself over her now-sanguine plate skin, weeping at the injustice of it all.

The screams of the savaged soldier were stifled abruptly; the snort of a horse and clanging of steel armour betrayed someone approaching her. She glared through the tears and wrath at a strapping man, with piercing azure eyes assessing her through his visor: a feathered gold plume adorned his helm. He scoffed, addressing the woman with an arrogant bombast:

“So, you’re the master of this hellish fiend? I have to say, I didn’t expect to see someone of… your inclination to be capable of such wanton destruction.”

Thunderous laughter followed his scathing remark, though the woman understood not what he said - only that they were murderers, one and all.

Her mother was dead, and she would have her revenge, she would rain down every conceivable violation and curse imaginable on these villains: killing for sport, for hubris. The woman spoke a final prayer for her departed mother, to consecrate her corpse against those that would defile her corpse.

She fled into the foggy darkness, to escape and exact her vengeance on the 'righteous' knights and 'honest' soldiers - slaughterers, killers, murderers.

Revel in your carnage and your destruction; it shall not last. For she will butcher you all with a viciousness invoked by a lifetime of rage. You will cower and you will beg, to take your brothers instead, but in the end -

You will only have yourselves to blame.

-=-