The Foster and the Feelings

The Chief hissed and flailed his hands at the sunset, his eyes were wide and urgent in that failing orange light.

His mate clutched their twin boys to her breast. She had refused to name them. She had thought this would make less difficulty when the time came to give them up.

But holding them there and feeling the cold flat stones of the altar beneath her bare feet, she realized she was wrong. Even nameless, she still loved them all too much.

She looked at the moon. But its light gave no comfort. Better that the horrors of this night stay hidden, as long as they might.

She thought about fleeing.

But... how far could she run with two toddlers in her arms? And where would they hide, once the dragon-god came?

Her children would be hunted and brought to pain beneath drooping, black wings-- no different than if she left them on the altar as instructed.

Only... leaving them would save her.

Her eyes stole along the edge of the clearing. Shattered skulls and broken bones, pale like bare wood in the waning light.

She did not wish her remains to be cast among them and lost to the birds and the creeping moss.

She had to lay the boys aside. To offer them both upon the blood stained altar. It was the only way to buy her own safety.

"Can you not kill them first, Corvo? Please?"

The chief grimaced as he spoke. "Mahlee, you know I cannot. The prophet was clear: 'only living sacrifices, for the gods desire...'"

He drew a shaky breath and finished, "their souls."

She sighed and kissed both boys on their foreheads--

But then one of the twins stirred in his sleep. He nuzzled his breathing face against the warm of her neck and in that moment she willingly accepted her own death-- even her own pain. Fear held no sway, it was overcome by a stubborn love.

The Chief saw her hesitation. He spoke in a low voice, his eyes welled with tears: "This is for our people. For our survival. For your survival too my flower. Place them on the altar."

"No."

His lips drew pale. His word had rarely been refused, and never by one whom he loved... He strode towards her and struck her hard across the face. One of the children woke and started to cry. Then the other joined in and their shrill voices pierced the gloom and smote his heart.

And though neither man nor woman took notice, the sunlight sighed away like a whisper of dying flame in the smoke-clouds beyond the sea.

She said, "Corvo, these are our sons! We cannot--"

But then there was a shriek: long and shrill, it rode the wind up out of the west. To human ears it sounded mournful, but the chief and his mate knew it for what it was: a cry of cruelty and thrill, birthed from the throat of a beast that delighted in the taste of pain.

A dragon on its way.

Chills gripped her spine, but they only strengthened her resolve. The Chief's jaw clenched, his eyes declared what his mouth could not: panic. He lurched forward and grabbed her arm, desperate for them both to escape before this terror swooped down and consumed them.

He shouted hard in her ear, to be heard over the deafening sound of the dragon-call and to break the paralysis of his own fear, "Throw them down, we run-- back to the caves!"

She pulled her arm free and turned away from her lover and away from her salvation.

She knew this choice was death. But it was also peace. Her heart was light and easy: though she could do nothing to protect or spare her children, she could at least remain with them and suffer their pain.

She closed her eyes and hoped it would be quick.

And she hoped the chief was already running. Even then, she still loved him. She wanted that he should escape to the safety of the caverns and continue to lead their people.

She breathed these intentions for all spirits to hear and let a smile rest on her face.

Then she felt an impact, the air was driven out of her chest by the piercing of her back. Her eyes flung open as she fell to her knees.

She could not breath. She imagined great, deadly claws squeezing her lungs.

...But when she looked down she saw no talons... only the tip of an arrow protruded from the left of her chest. It looked to have pierced her heart.

Her arms were shedding their strength. As her thoughts dimmed, she clutched her babes in a failing embrace and grieved that they should suffer their end without her warmth to comfort them.

Shadow pressed against her sight and she shifted the tunnel of her gaze around to see what she could learn from the face of her lover: why had he taken this from her?

But he was already gone.

***

Corvo had fled the very instant he'd confirmed his arrow had met its mark. He'd stifled his tears and beaten back all his fear and stayed to watch the arrow fly-- he'd risked his very life for that final mercy and made certain it struck true. Only then had he turned to run.

So why did he hate himself then?

It didn't matter why. What mattered is he had saved her soul, had protected her.

.... Even though loosing that arrow had broken his heart as well as hers.

But then, running mad like a hare through the gnarled pines, he heard the dragon scream and he heard his children cry and then he knew exactly why he hated himself.

He hated himself for leaving his sons as the offering. He knew it was to appease the gods and save his people. But in the secret of his mind he cursed the gods and in the truth of his heart he cursed himself.

He ran harder for the shelter of the caves, sucking desperate breaths.

The air was so chilly it made his lungs burn.

***

Back at the clearing broad wings cut a swathe through the moonlight and beat the air into a chaos of shadow and dust.

The children screamed.

The Dragon shrieked back, all the louder, as he lighted on the cold stone of the feeding platform. He whipped his tail in frustration. He hated it when those stupid beasts left their young for the offering. His brothers and sisters said the young ones tasted the best, and he couldn't deny they were certainly more tender. But he'd never liked eating them.

At least he'd never enjoyed eating them alive. And these ones still were. Their pain was almost painful to behold, when one bit into them. They seemed to feel everything far more intensely than the mature humans. Even though they were but lesser creatures he found himself feeling sorry for them. He just didn't like to see living things suffer.

He much preferred them dead.

And these ones were screaming, before he'd so much as set a single tooth against their flesh. They were obviously very sensitive, fragile little creatures, in constant pain all on their own.

Still, he was hungry and they were food. His stomach groaned, and he could practically hear his brood-siblings' admonitions. They'd call him soft for pitying his meal.

But here he was alone, and the only voices he had to acknowledge belonged to his stomach and his conscience. He placed a clawed talon over each child's face, to muffle their hideous cries.

Their eyes leaked water and their weak, little fists beat against his powerful claws. They tried to squirm away, but he held them fast.

Then he considered: how best to kill them, to minimize their pain. His siblings had scorned him when he'd asked the question back at the cliffs.

They'd called him a fool and they'd said: "Gray Brother, don't waste your thought on anything as trivial as how to kill them, instead concern yourself with their flavor. Just eat and take pleasure in your meal."

He respected his siblings in all things, but in that instance he'd sought out the wisdom the Matriarch of their brood. Her voice had carried the weight of prohibition: "It's not a question we dragons ask. It does not do to dwell on this. The humans are but a resource. It's easy to think of them as more than they are, but they are just simple animals, like any other but more nutritious. And sometimes more dangerous."

"Yes Matron, but if I wished to learn more about the humans, could I not speak with the Emissaries?"

Her eyes flashed, and she shook her mane. "Only Elders may speak with the Emissaries. All others are forbidden."

She had dismissed him.

Out of admiration for her wisdom he had attempted to put the question out of his mind. But since then he had taken most of his meals prepared, back at the cliffs rather than alive out here at the farms-- only making the flight on those occasions where the Matriarch commanded him.

And now, not only was he stuck with living humans, they were young ones.

He released one from his grip and spoke loud over the thing's incessant screams, "How do you prefer I kill you?"

The young one screamed and crawled towards a heap of furs lying on the stones. The toddler's shrill little voice was frantic gibberish: "mama-- mama!"

He dragged the young one away and it fled back to the heap. It nuzzled its little face against the furs, and the dragon couldn't help but wonder what this little human was so fixated on.

So reached forward with his free talon and plucked up the heap.

Underneath the furs, a mature human, female, and thankfully already dead-- unable to suffer!

It smelled good!

He bit at his food, tore into it's chest. Still warm!

Of course on some level he missed the pulse of living blood, but it was a relief not to have to see any pain on the poor creature's face.

But there was one of those tiny human darts in the food's heart. This greatly annoyed him. Every dragon knew the nutrition was in the brain but the heart was the tastiest morsel.

He picked out the wooden barb and swallowed his prize. No longer beating but still full of flavor. He licked the blood from his face, then sheared off great chunks of skin and muscle and fat from the lower limbs with his razor teeth. He used his long, serpentine tongue to rasp little scraps of tissue from the bones and he greedily tore away the tendons and gristle.

He purred and placed her head between his powerful jaws, then cracked her skull. He slurped down the brains, licked up the juice, then flung the unwanted scraps into the ferns.

He grunted his satisfaction and then remembered the young ones. He was no longer ravenous. But he wasn't quite full.

He could still eat at little bit more, and they were the perfect size. In fact, one might do it.

But now came the difficulty of killing them. As painlessly as possible. And the one he'd spoken to first had never given an answer.

He looked down on them. The one he'd released was simply sitting on the stones, its face absolutely wet. Water still leaked from its eyes, nose, and mouth.

He'd always thought it was curious how living humans did that. Was it a defense mechanism, their leaking?

"How would you prefer me to kill you? What would hurt the least?"

It just sat their moaning, "mama, mama, mama"... It seemed stupid, even compared to the others of its kind. And the Dragon reasoned, he might get a clearer answer from the other one.

He lifted his other talon, surprised to find the other human completely still. It had stopped screaming and it had stopped squirming. He prodded it and realized that it had died.

... He must have accidentally smothered it. He hoped it hadn't been needlessly painful, but either way, he was relieved: now he needn't worry about the best way to kill the thing.

He pinched it between his claws and pulled off strips of meat. And the one on the stones shrieked all the louder-- as though it were his own flesh being stripped.

It made no sense!

Why should this little one-- who constantly cried and wailed as though in pain-- seem to experience even greater pain when some other of its species was flayed. Perhaps humans experienced some kind of... communal pain?

He tore off another dripping bite and gazed thoughtfully down on the living. The little creature wiped its eyes and made an odd gesture: it was clasping its fat little hands across its mouth. Was it hungry then? Was that the pain?

The dragon had heard rumors that humans, the base, savage animals they were, occasionally engaged in cannibalism. Was this one experiencing a fit of hunger?

He considered the weight of the portion in his talon and decided he could spare a pinch.

He pulled a fat little leg off the dead one and tossed it on the ground before the living one. But the human covered its eyes and turned its face away and began to tremble.

So not hungry then.

The dragon finished his meal and yawned. Then began to climb a nearby spruce. Branches creaked and sagged under his weight as he pulled himself off the ground. He spread his wings. But before he took off, he looked back down at the feeding platform.

The remaining child had curled back up on itself, it was no longer screaming, but lying on the cold stone all lone. Now, very quiet and gently shaking.... but otherwise still.

And the dragon felt a flash of clarity: this wasn't because the pain was over, the pain had simply exhausted the poor creature.

And he noticed again, how wet the thing's face was. But the water had ceased flowing. He wondered if perhaps the water leaking was less a defense mechanism and more a… primitive expression of pain?

He cocked his head and watched. The thing squirmed pitifully against the ground... Then the dragon made a decision that challenged his nature. He decided to take the human and keep it alive.

Perhaps if he could raise it to maturity, he'd find answers to the questions other dragons didn't care to ask.

He slid back down the trunk of the tree, loose bark crumbled away beneath his scaly limbs. Then he slunk over to the child and lifted it as gently as he could, careful to avoid clasping its mouth and smothering it like he had his meal. It was colder than when he'd first held it.

He was no fool, he understood that these things cooled as they died. He'd eaten enough living and prepared food to observe the basics. He still didn't know why they cooled during and after death, but he understood that they did.

And the cooling of this one irritated him. He wished to keep it alive, and intuitively figured to do so he must keep it warm. But not too warm! He had watched humans die to his flames several times in his youth, before he'd learned to control his fire….

He drew in a great breath and forced out a brief but mighty burn, high into the air above their heads. The flames licked the tops of the trees and set the pines alight. It was a short burst, but it was enough to warm the scales beneath his neck. He touched his own neck scales and grunted, they were about the same temperature as a live human.

Not so hot as to harm the pitiable thing.

He pulled the young one close.

***

And the child, past all reason and effort, and senseless to all around him only knew one thing: a nightmare of loss and cold seemed suddenly to end, and now his face had finally found a place of warmth-- though it was only as soft as the stones.

He nuzzled cold skin to warm scales and slept.

***

But at this touch the dragon felt a thunderclap of unknown pain, radiating from his neck, and pulsing through his entire body... It made him weak. It made him tremble...

He stumbled, tried to rise, then fell on his side.

This weakness had come from the human. Something in that skin to scale contact. Something miserable and entirely unexpected. Was it poison?

He thrust the child away from his neck, but the pain did not subside. His mind was rocked by storms he had never felt before.

His wings twitched weak and limp across the chilly stones.

Was he dying? He drew a ragged, shallow breath. And for the first time in his life, the dragon tasted the fullness of fear.

He did not want to die. Not like the humans in this clearing.

He did not want to die, and thinking about it was torture!

Then he knew that his meals-- the humans-- had so often felt this same miserable apprehension. They had known their future and the mere knowing had hurt.

But another pain radiated up from the pit of his stomach. Somehow this was more sickening than the pain of fear. It was deeper. It was profound. It was devastating.... The pain of loss.

He could not bear to look at it, but try as he might he could not look away, he felt it lingering, an after-burn of that first terrible flash. It frayed the edges of his sanity: the young human was grieving.

And now the dragon was too. He was clamped in the jaws of a torturous fixation: the child had lost the one he needed most. His voice seemed to wail again in the dragon's mind, though now this word bore terrible meaning: 'mama, mama'.

There was adoration lying in ruin.

The dragon knew that this human's 'mama' was something nominally the same as-- though in full purpose very different from-- the brood matron of the dragons.

There was an interaction there built on tenderness. It went far beyond respect, far beyond admiration.

The dragon had never known love, and this sudden exposure to something so intense and powerful from the heart and soul of humankind only magnified the weight of feeling that now burned within him. Fear and loss.

Unto that child and countless humans of the past, he had been that fear. He had been that loss. Today he had brought the child to agony.

Another feeling consumed his quaking mind, though it hadn't come from the transfer but from within: remorse.

He'd been peripherally curious-- even loosely concerned-- about the humans.... But now he felt their pain and guilt for having caused it. He writhed across the feeding platform and loathed himself.

Guilt gripped him by the throat. He knew himself to be wretched for visiting trauma and misery on creatures that could feel in so many ways.

He ached on the inside. He had never felt such a thing.

His lungs seemed to deflate. Even to breath demanded an overwhelming effort.

He needed some way to express the anguish he now carried-- then the dragon remembered how the human's face had leaked and wished he could do the same.

But he could find no catharsis.

As he lay there on the blooded altar, panting and heaving, he saw the child crawling and reached out to retrieve him. He knew to hold him to the warmth in his neck again would risk another flash of pain, but to leave this child would be murder-- and that would be the greater anguish. He shuddered and pulled the little one close and laid him against his warm scales. And there was another flash of feeling, another transfer, but it was not thunder. It was a chorus of the pain the dragon had already received, but it was not without it's subtle comforts.

This time the child shared good feelings too, though these seemed fragile and small in the wake of such misery: the peace of sleep and the safety of warmth. The dragon sighed for this small contentment.

He purred and cradled the child. He began to understand the yearning ache of love.

But he had spent too much time feeling and the fire in the trees had grown to a danger. Pine boughs cracked and popped. Hot ash snowed down and the cold stones would soon be blanketed.

***

The trees were aflame. They could not be climbed without scorching the child.

Taking the air without a perch to leap from was near impossible, but the dragon was desperate. He rallied his strength and shielded the child behind his claws and his bearded chin.

Then he beat his wings hard through the smoky air. He rose a few measures. He stretched his wings to the point of extremity then thrust them down again. The strain in his muscles was excruciating, and... he was falling.

Then he caught an updraft, heat rising from the brush fires below.

The child was awake and the dragon felt his pain. He was burning!

The dragon held the child in a full, desperate embrace and flew harder than he'd ever done before.

They rose past the searing flames. Great clouds of smoke swirled away from each beat of the dragon's mighty wings as they took to fresher air.

His heart soared with pride! He had saved the human child.

This wasn't enough to wash away the guilt of having destroyed so many in the past, but it helped.

They streaked through the clouds of a moonlit sky, west towards the cliffs beyond the sea.

And the dragon had a plan:

He'd convince his brothers and sisters, and his matron to clutch the babe to their necks. They'd have undeniable proof that humans were more feeling than they had realized-- indeed more feeling than the dragons themselves were.

Starlight glimmered overhead and he felt such hope. Was this a gift from the soul he still held close? Or was it his own?

He was not the first back to the brood lair. His Crimson Sister was there, licking her chops and gloating over her full belly. He glided down beside her, and bowed in greeting.

She bowed in return, "How was your meal Gray Brother? Are not the live ones far more enjoyable?"

He shifted a talon to reveal the sleeping child. "Sister Crimson I have returned with something I must share with you."

She yawned and patted her belly. "I am quite full, but what a tasty looking smidgen! If you insist I shall force down a bite more, at my pleasure."

"You misunderstand me Sister, this one is not for eating. I have made a curious discovery, there is some magic in this human."

Her tail flicked the air and she perked up from the nest on which she lazed. She inclined her head and flexed her deadly claws. "Magic? How do we draw it out of this one?"

"Keep your claws aside, for spilling the blood will spoil the magic. Simply hold the human to your neck scales. Treat gently, as you would an egg."

This wasn't a lie, but it sure was a trick.

She did as instructed.

The moment the child's face touched her scales she gnashed her teeth and hissed and moaned. She crumpled in on herself, and cradled her head between her wings.

Her face was an avalanche of grimaces as she melted into a quivering mess.

She finally raised her head and asked: "How could we not see?"

Together Crimson and Gray plotted to bring the brood around. They reasoned that the trick would work best if their brothers and sisters returned individually. Should more than one return together, they committed to the use of honesty and reason-- and as a last resort-- force.

They took turns cuddling the child as they waited at the perch of the cliffs.

And so, over the hours the brood brothers and sisters returned and gained feeling.

And then out of the South they heard a satisfied roar, they knew her voice: their Matron.

She was wise, so they knew they could not trick her. She was mighty, they knew they could not overpower her. So they'd use reason, and present the gift openly.

She rose in the distance like a great shadow within the darkness, the moonlight did not linger upon her tar-black wings. At the rush of her coming the cliffs were buffeted by furious winds.

She landed and they all bowed. And Gray Brother revealed the child. Her eyes widened. Her glare betrayed a hint of recognition, and a threat... But he saw it not and spoke plain, "Brood Matron we would share with you this gift. We have discovered that humans are more than we thought. They have a depth of feeling that far exceeds our own, but they can share it with us through--"

Her roar was piercingly high and deafeningly low. The air seemed charged with the heat of her anger.

The brood flinched away as she rose up on her hind legs.

"Fools! The humans are food. They are not our betters, nor our equals, they are not even our lessers or our pets! All you have discovered, though you see it not, is that they carry a terrible poison! Conveyed through a touch, it devastates a healthy dragon's mind with hallucinations of thoughts that do not exist!"

Her eyes flashed violence and her voice was seething rage.

"I could not warn you of the danger, because a dragon's curiosity is its greatest failing. I knew none of you would be strong enough to resist the touch! But fear not, I have tasted this poison years ago and I know the remedy. You must each taste of this human's blood to break the spell it has put over on you. Reject the pain and put it back on that wretched, lowly creature. Confirm that it is but a meal."

But the brood held back.

Her voice rose like thunder and shook the cliffs to their foundations: "Give me the human or I will flay you and scatter your scales in the sea!"

Gray retreated with the child held close. The brood stepped forward.

Hottest fire flared from the Matron's nostrils as she charged against her blood. She clawed a path against her own dragons and screamed forward with ravenous anger.

And the brood, now grown to feelings they'd never known, they were spurred on by fear for themselves and for each other and for the child.

And that made their fires an inferno and their flailing talons all the more terrible.

She had been the mightiest, but she broke apart against their rebellion like a heavy wave upon a rocky shore.

In the midst of her fury, her own flesh was pulled open by flashing talons. Snapping teeth sank into her flank and her front right claw was torn clean off. Mortal wounds bloomed across her body. Holes in her neck and side revealed the grease of her vitals.

All this came to her as an incomprehensible shock. But her livid intensity kept her alive enough to flee. She turned and ran for the mouth of their lair. And then she leapt out and away from the cliffs.

Her blood rained through the air towards the sea below, as she spread her mangled wings. They were but shreds and all their flapping was useless, so she plummeted out of sight with a shriek.

The brood stood by, and stared at the empty space she had occupied. They licked their wounds. They sighed.

The world of feeling was new to them, and they weren't quite sure how to understand the gruesome death of their own smatron. They felt a vague, nagging sense of loss. But it was different from the loss the child had shared with each of them. They did not feel as though their mother had died. They felt as though they had never had any such thing as a mother.

At least not beyond the biological sense, of having been incubated under her coils and hatched in the lair she maintained.

But now she was gone.

Who would take charge? Who would keep the brood fed?

Gray Brother held the child close and said, "I do not wish to eat human anymore. We shall keep this one as our teacher."

The brood flexed their wings in agreement.

"We must speak with the Emissaries."

Crimson moaned, "It is forbidden."

Gray cast his pale eyes upon the bits of gore their matron had left behind on her final flight over the cliff's edge.... "It was forbidden."

***

And Gray no longer felt the binds of tradition, so he summoned the Emissaries to appear before them all.

They shuffled in, quaking in their robes, bowing and begging with every step.

***

That morning, the sun cast a hellish glare through lingering haze, and Corvo made no effort to hide his tears as he kicked through the ash that buried the altar.

He wanted to find Mahlee's bones and the bones of their children-- to put them in a place of honor.

When he heard the conch-horn sounding through the charred forest, he fell to his knees.

How could the gods demand another sacrifice so soon?

***

The Emissaries stood on the shore waiting the chief. He came to them out of the wasted woods, painted with soot and tears-- they gave their message:

"The Dragon-Gods have issued a New Decree. Human sacrifices will no longer be accepted. Our Lords desire to feed on boar, deer, bear, or wolf. Whatever your hunters can provide."

And Corvo moaned his grief, that this news from the gods hadn't come the night before.