The First Argetlam

There is something different about this one.

It smells the same as the rest— fresh meat masked by the putrid stench of piss and shit, with a fading musky undertone of fear. But there is a sweetness to it, carried by the mist and fog, swirling around the base of the giant trees as their branches creak in the evening wind. I follow the scent, nostrils flaring. Branches snap beneath my weight as I maneuver through the maze of foliage, delving deep into the forest. The four-legged inhabitants scurry away, though they need not to.

I’m not coming for them.

The wide circular clearing is lit by a full moon, casting the fog in glistening silver. My talons clack on flat black stones set into the earth, arranged in a spiral towards the center of the space. An unnecessary extravagance. My stomach rumbles in anticipation, lips curling and saliva filling my mouth, dripping onto the tiled ground below. Eager to see what has been left, I clear the mist with a puff of warm breath.

I snort in surprise.

Set in the center of the spiral stones, bathed in moonlight, is the tiniest two-legged I have ever seen. I didn’t know they made them this small. It is wrapped in a white cloth, exposing nothing but its face, eyes closed. Its chest rises and falls as it breathes, peacefully asleep, unaware that death is moments away.

Outrage rumbles deep in my belly, lifting my lips in a snarl.

I’ve come all this way for a mere morsel? Years past, there’s been a more substantive snack; not near enough to fill my belly, but worth my while for the trek. This morsel may not even quell the hunger pangs for an early morning hunt, but it is better than nothing. And I’ve come all this way. Opening my maw, I tongue the morsel into my mouth and clamp my jaw shut. The body is soft, the texture of the fabric scratchy, but holds the promise of a satisfying crunch. Savouring the salty flavour a bit longer, I spread my wings to fly away through the hole in the ceiling of the forest.

A tickle in my throat brings me to pause, along with an unusual sound. I unclench my jaw and open my mouth. The morsel makes a noise, light and airy, unlike anything I’ve ever heard. Sticking out my tongue, I plop the thing back onto the ground.

It is awake now, with round eyes much too large for its head. Its mouth is upturned and open, little paws kicking in the air. I grunt, confused, and lap the morsel back into my mouth. My leg muscles tense to leap into the air, but before I do, it reaches out and grabs my uvula. My gag reflex engages and it’s all I can do to spit the morsel out onto the ground before heaving. The little thing makes the noise again, like a gurgling brook mixed with the song of birds.

I tilt my head to the side. Strange.

The morsel can keep for a bit longer. For now, it’s more interesting alive than as a snack.

Gathering the morsel in my claws, careful not to scratch its delicate hide, I hold it to my chest and take off into the moonlit sky.

∞

There is something different about this one.

And not only because it was my child chosen as the sacrifice. By now there should have been a scream, a cry, anything. There always has been before. Nobody goes quietly.

The whole village is hushed, waiting in silence, save for my muffled cries. I choke on a sob as tears of anger and fear run down my cheeks, absorbed by the cloth stuffed in my mouth, gagging me. I pull against the arms restraining me, holding me down from running to the Spiralis to take back what is mine, but their grips are firm.

A rumble fills the air, stilling our hearts and drawing an eerie quiet from the forest as every creature holds their breath, waiting for it to pass. The air shudders as wings are flapped, a shadow passes across the moon, and then it’s gone.

They release me and I fall to my knees. I wrench the cloth from my mouth and throw it to the ground, then scramble onto my feet and push through the trees to where we left her. Voices call after me, but I can’t hear them over the thudding of my own heart, which has risen to my throat, choking me. I run away from the village, along the twisting path through the forest, and stumble into the Spiralis. The mist is swirling upwards in the wake of the beast as it left.

“She’s gone,” I gasp, searching the ground for evidence of her sweet face, her brown eyes, her melodious giggle.

Footfalls following behind stop at the edge of the smooth black stones. “It was for the best.” The older man’s familiar throat is thick, a rasping whisper.

A voice that was once a balm to my soul now feels callous and rough. I collapse on my knees in the center and cradle my head in my hands. A scream rips from somewhere within me, ragged and raw, until the air is gone from my lungs and my throat constricts.

A hand touches my back, but I tear myself away. “This is your fault,” I spit, unable to see past the tears in my eyes.

He steps back, concerned I’m a danger to him. He would be right. Raising his hands, he speaks slowly and softly, as if to a frightened dog. “The babe was our best option. We could not give anyone else this year. And we agreed that her pure soul, so young and new, would please Them. They will leave us be this season. We don’t have to live in fear.”

A joyless laugh racks my body. “They will do no such thing. Year after year we give, sacrifice upon sacrifice, and yet there is no difference. Some years they attack, and others they do not. There is no reason to it, nothing we can measure or see. It is but a random occurrence, and throwing life after innocent life away, for what? So… so you can have some sense of control?”

His wrinkled face hardens. “You know nothing. You’ve lived merely sixteen turns upon this Earth, and yet you blaspheme upon our sacred Spiralis. Wisen your words. The other elders will not take as kindly to them.”

I drop my gaze to the center of the Spiralis where the stones meet in a black onyx crystal. My fingers graze the smooth stones around it, and my brow furrows. “There’s no blood,” I whisper, the realization striking me like awaking from a nightmare.

“What?” the old man asks, craning his neck but not daring step foot upon the black stones.

“There’s no blood!” I shout, standing quickly and moving about the space in wonder and hope.

“Cress,” he urges, but I barely hear him over the thoughts racing through my mind.

“She’s alive. The dragon took her, but didn’t harm her. She would have cried! There would be blood. A scrap of cloth. Anything. But there isn’t! She’s out there, and I can find her. We know where the dragons roost, we can—”

Firm hands grip my wrists, pulling my manic pacing to a stop.

“Cress,” he says again, more firmly. His watery eyes hold within them a sadness and pain, along with a deep sense of inevitability. He shakes his head, subtle and slow. “She’s gone.”

I grit my teeth and clench my fists, balling them next to his face as he holds my wrists tighter. “No.”

“Accept it. It is the only way forward. Our village is safer because of your sacrifice. And of mine. You… fighting this, denying what is real, will only make your pain greater.”

I blink, a tear running down my cheek. There is nothing I can say to him. He did not listen to reason before, and he certainly won’t now. But I know, deep within my soul, that my baby is still alive. She’s still out there. And she needs me. No-one else will believe me, and even if they did, they wouldn’t move to save her in the wane hope that their false sacrifice will free them from a year of incessant fear.

If I’m going to save her, I’m going to have to do it on my own.

Swallowing my pride, I manage a weak nod, then allow him to bring me into his embrace. “Yes… father.”

∞

Morsel makes its melodic noise again as I blow a stream of warm air to the cave ceiling. The bioluminescent lichen heats, glowing bright blue in the wake of my breath. I draw circles and waves, crosses and stars, and it chimes away, toddling around on unsteady feet and clapping its front paws together. Not only have I never heard such a sound, but the smell that joins it is new, as well. Like the sound, its smell is sweet— like overripe fruit mixed with honey. It stirs something in my chest, tightening my ribs against my heart, and brings a fluttering feeling in the base of my belly.

I gaze down upon Morsel as it marvels at the cave walls, the glowing blue light illuminating the upturn of its wide-open mouth, its pudgy limbs, the shine to its eyes. It looks from the ceiling, to me, and its mouth opens even wider as it makes the sound again.

My chest constricts even tighter.

What is this feeling?

I begin to rumble. Not a growl, but something deeper, slower, methodic. The low, slow off-and-on rumble echoes through the cave. Morsel feels it. It seems to soothe at the sound and the sensation, cooing. Then, on unsteady feet it falls upon my tail, hugging it tight.

My rumbling increases and my throat tightens. Carefully, I wrap my tail around Morsel, cocooning it in safety and warmth, and watch as it drifts off to sleep.

I’m not sure how long I can keep it. I brought it here to study, and then promptly eat, but now I’m not sure if I can. Sooner or later, it will either perish from natural causes, a slow and painful end, or I can be done with it in one swallow. The thought sours my stomach.

The ache of hunger in my belly is still present, having expected a meal and not eaten since. I will have to leave it sooner or later to hunt. Perhaps it can eat what I catch, too, and it will keep a little longer. The thought of its curious sounds disappearing from my home brings with it a wave of disappointment. My cave feels warmer, fuller with it here. I look to the fading blue cave walls, wondering if warming them could ever bring me as much joy as it did today. Now that I’ve smelled such sweetness, heard this whimsical noise, how can I go on without it?

I hum, curling my tail around it tighter. I do not know how long Morsel will be here, how long it will keep, or what will meet its end. But I know one thing— this day has been the best I’ve had in centuries.

∞

This has been the worst day of my life.

A trek that takes most two days, I’ve done in one, refusing to stop, to eat, to rest. My exhausted limbs are scratched and bruised from pushing past the foliage of the deep forests, my wet hair is tangled and matted from fighting the current as I crossed the river, and the soles of my feet are cut from scaling the rocky cliffs. And yet, nothing is worse than the possibility of never finding my child, never holding her in my arms again, never hearing her laugh. It is that thought that has pushed me on, past the pain, beyond the brink of exhaustion.

After everything, I’m finally here.

Nigreomons, the Black Mountain, stands before me, wild and crooked and devastating against the backdrop of amber sky as day turns to night. One full day has passed without my babe, and yet I still feel her pull from somewhere deep within me, the flicker of hope in my heart still alight like a candle straining against the wind.

The crooked mountain of black stone twists up from the earth, a thorn from a branch, its surface dotted with caves like maggot-rotted cheese. Not many who venture this far return home, but those that do always palm a stone to add to the Spiralis, their place in the community cemented as someone brave, strong, and capable. The sacred onyx crystal at its center was retrieved from one of the caves, a feat of utmost bravery— or stupidity— by someone who then became our leader. My father. Eyeing the numerous caves and guessing at the chances I make it back from this journey alive, the odds are against me. I suppose bravery and stupidity runs in the family.

I pick up a smooth black stone and rub my thumb along it, then cast it aside with contempt. I will not be returning with something as futile as a rock or jewel to prove my worth, nor will I add to the grotesque display of ignorance and false beliefs that have resulted in so many needlessly lost lives.

I will be returning with my babe.

And we will change everything.

With a steadying breath, I begin scaling the mountain towards the first cave. I amble up on hands and feet, working my way as quickly and quietly as possible, knowing any stray step may cause the shifting black stones to cascade down the mountain and alert the dragons of my presence. By the time I reach the first cave my heart is pounding and limbs are shaking. Catching my breath, I peek into the first cave, listen, wait, and then feel with my heart for the presence of my baby girl. I feel her tugging me, not inwards but onwards, and proceed to the next.

I move from cave to cave, zigzagging right to left, higher and higher. The whole mountain rumbles beneath me as the dragons sleep, warmth emanating from the stone from their fiery breath. The higher I climb the less air there seems to be, and the adrenaline that had strengthened my limbs is now sapping it of strength. The only thing that forces me to put one foot in front of the other is the incessant pull in my chest growing more insistent, the flicker of hope glowing brighter as I climb.

Finally, I come to a cave that feels different from the rest. It looks the same as the others, but it feels different, deep down in my belly. A shiver runs down the length of my spine, the hair on my arms and legs raising in anticipation. Breath caught in my throat, I edge into the cavern. The darkness swallows me. It is cool and damp, smelling like earth from the forest floor and the pungent scent of dragon. Trailing my fingers along the wall as the cave curves and twists into the mountain, I make my way slowly, the padding of my feet echoing on the stone floor worn smooth from thousands of dragon footfalls. Around a final corner, the cavern opens.

The wide space is dimly lit from above, a meagre blue light coming from some sort of plant matter gripping the stone. Squinting, I search for signs of the dragon, but see none. It is empty.

Empty, save for the small mound in the center of the space.

My heart leaps into my throat and my lungs forget how to exhale at the sight of it. Blind with hope, I surge forward and scoop it into my arms. It’s her— my baby. She is still warm. With trembling fingers I peel back the fabric wrapped around her, still white, no visible bloodshed. I pull her to my chest, her body against mine feeling like home. Her sweet face has not even a scratch upon it, as perfect as the day she was born, with round cheeks, a tiny nose, and large eyes rested closed. I brush a strand of brown hair from her face, caressing her soft skin. Her eyelashes flutter as she wakes, squirming in my grasp. Her tiny brow knits as if waking from a dream, then recognition dawns and she squeals, giggling her melodious laugh.

“Mama!”

Her happy cry rings through the cave as she grabs for me, and I can’t help but release a sob of my own. Rocking gently, I close my eyes and hug her tight. A tear slips down my cheek, landing on hers. I kiss it away, murmuring that I have her, that she is safe, that we will be home soon.

That’s when I hear it— the slow, steady click, click, click of talons on stone.

∞

Never before have I smelled something so intense. It is strong and sharp, sweet but sour. That of Morsel, and of something similar. And, of course, there is the fear. One wave of thick musk ebbs just as a fresh one is released, clouding my senses, triggering the primal urge to hunt. A rumble too low for most ears to hear, but that can be felt deep within the bones, emanates from my belly.

I huff a deep breath, the cave glowing brighter blue, illuminating the creature before me.

The two-legged, who has claimed my Morsel for its own, stands. Its height barely reaches my knee, its spindly legs could be easily snapped, and the teeth it bares at me are miniscule stumps made more for plant than meat. It is a poor excuse for a predator, barely a viable source of prey. Not worth the hunt and yet I know its taste, having consumed one every turn of the earth from the clearing in the forest with the spiral of black stones.

I could end its life in three crunchy bites. Judging by the musk of fear, it knows this fact. And yet it stands, rooted, firm.

Morsel twists in the taller one’s grasp, looks to me, and then makes its burbling noise. It reaches its pudgy paws towards me, wriggling as if trying to escape the grasp of the other.

My sense of the hunt diminishes, fading like the light at sunset. The rumble in my belly soothes as the odd feeling in my chest returns, squeezing and lifting.

The taller two-legged looks from Morsel, to me, and back. Then, hugging Morsel close with one arm it raises the other limb towards me in a defensive, protective stance. Useless, yet admirable. I’m touched by the bravery of this two-legged. It came all this way, risked life and limb, for this tiny Morsel, without knowing if it were still alive or if they’d escape at all. And yet, it still came. I lower my head in respect to this being, understanding creeping into my mind. It came all this way out of love. And a love like this can only be from that of a mother.

I recall my own hatchlings who have long since left my nest, and what I would have done to protect them.

The Mother inches sideways, not taking its eyes off me. I, too, inch sideways. We move, inch by inch, until the Mother is at the cave entrance and I’ve given her room to leave.

I rumble in knowing resignation, understanding that this is the end of my time with Morsel, cut so short. Sadness leeches into my bones, and yet there is a contentment, knowing that it will live on in relative safety for the rest of its short life. The Mother begins to back away, but Morsel squirms, squealing, pushing away, begging for release.

Lowering my snout, I bring myself closer for one last farewell.

The Mother, gripping Morsel as if her very existence requires the other to survive, still has her hand outstretched. Her fingers tremble, then stills, drawing closer to me. The rumble from my belly rises and falls, slow and methodic, soothing the Mother. Her features soften, eyes lit by curiosity, and she steps forward.

We both take a breath, holding it, a sense of curiosity and inevitability brimming, shimmering in the space between us.

Then, the Mother’s palm alights atop my nose.

Blinding white light explodes from the contact, along with a ringing sound that pierces my ears. The earth shakes, growing more and more intense, until I fear the very world will crack open.

As soon as it happens, it stops.

The world is as it should be, glowing faintly blue, still and quiet.

In front of me, the Mother eyes her hand with fascination, a shining silver mark branding the skin of her palm. Then, she looks at me, full of wonder.

Morsel makes its —her— bubbling noise again.

Laughter. She is giggling. I know this, because the Mother knows this.

“Morsel,” she says, her voice quiet but strong. “It’s not her name day yet, and so it hasn’t been decided. But we’re not calling her that.”

I grunt, feeling my own bubbling laugh in a low rumble, a sensation I’ve never experienced before.

The Mother —Cressida— and I share a long look, brimming with curiosity, uncertainty, and hope. I’m not sure what the future holds, but for the first time in centuries, I know I will not be alone. I feel a deep sense of something ending, as with a bright new beginning.

She takes a slow breath. “I feel it, too.”