The Red Dragon and the Black Cat

Wrathmongous the Humongous spun through the sky a league above the ground. Craning a sinuous neck, he admired how the iridescent scales on his back gleamed like rubies in the sunlight. The blazing solar rays refueled his reserves of Manna, the ephemeral elemental force which powered all Magic in the world. The great dragon turned his massive head to the impossibly distant flaming orb and stared directly into the cosmic furnace, absorbing all he could get, distracted only by the nagging ache in his side.

Threads of royal-purple, electric-pink, and sanguine-red Manna coalesced in the air around the enormous beast as he drank in the might of the sun. To some degree or another all living things sense these energies, but only the most Magical are able to see it, and only a few among those can truly harness its power. Several methods of gathering the precious resource exist, but much of the power of dragons was owed to the ease with which they could soar above the clouds and sip from the sun’s cup.

The amount of Magic in the world seemed to be waning, a situation of concern to all creatures, save one. Rumors that a conclave would be called swirled among beasts, both Fantastic and Mundane, all of whom agreed that this had something to do with the rapid spread of humans and their advancing technologies.

Not terribly long ago, as dragons see things, the humans were cave-dwellers, barely distinguishable from ten thousand other types of prey, notable only by their use of fire, which they scraped into life with rocks, unable to summon it by Magical means. That mere apes would arrogantly harness such elemental power aroused ire among Dragonkind, who saw the elements as their domain alone. Many among them now lamented not exterminating the uppity creatures en-mass when they had the chance, before they had spread so far and wide.

Beneath him, Wrathmongous could see how the landscape had changed in recent centuries. Where once forests had run wild was a rough grid of overgrown fields demarcated by crumbling stone walls. Some blessing had driven most of the humans from this area, and the feral remnants of their crops attracted enough game to make this a preferred hunting ground of his. He admired the scorched evidence of his handiwork, which stood out as dark, burned patches in various states of regrowth here and there among the vegetation.

With barely a hint of interest, his hunter’s eyes noticed a jet black cat perched on one of the stone walls at the edge of the remaining forest. A measure of mutual respect existed between dragons and felines, both of whom recognized that no other creatures could match either when it came to the use of Magic. The cat winked, which the dragon found audacious. All living things knew it was unwise to attract a dragon’s attention. The tiny black speck below then stood on its hind-legs and waved into the air. The dragon swooped down, landing with a thunderous crash among the pricker bushes in the field beside the cat, his fury at having been distracted tempered by the idea that the reckless thing might have news of the conclave.

Dragon and cat regarded each-other with vertically-slit eyes. Massive vermillion orbs blazing with inner fire met the cat’s yellow gaze, which was the color of an autumn leaf a moment before it falls, festooned with flecks of gold gleaming in the bright daylight. The dragon’s hide was a thousand shades of red, while the cat was as black as midnight in the depths of a well. Even her nose and toe-beans were as black as pitch. “Are you a good dragon or a bad dragon?” asked the cat.

Wrathmongous was incredulous at the creature’s frivolity. Orders of magnitude larger than the cat he raised his neck high as he spread his wings and spoke. “I am the worst dragon!” he roared. “I am Wrathmongous the Humongous, The Crimson Inferno, The Inescapable Volcano, The Furnace of the Gods! My claws are flesh-tearing swords! My teeth are meat-rending daggers! My hide is impenetrable armor! My wings beat oak trees to the ground! The furnace in my belly burns like a star!

I am King of the Skies and Lord of this great green earth! I have torn a kraken from the bitter salt waters and feasted on its charred flesh on a cliff above the sea, which I also claim as my domain! The merfolk who witnessed my inevitable victory swore fealty to me!

I have burned the humans while they toil and in their homes! I have feasted on every ilk of giant and bathe myself in unicorn blood! I am blazing sharp death from above and all that draw breath should fear my terrible magnificence!”

“Oh, nevermind, then,” said the cat, licking her paw and drawing it across her satiny face. “I’m Newmoon. My claws are razors, my teeth needles. I have eaten a prophet of mice and one time I bit a dog and made it bleed. Did your mother name you that?”

The dragon considered incinerating the presumptuous time-waster, but to kill another Magical creature without good cause was unlucky and considering the current predicament he thought it foolish to actively court misfortune. “Dragons hatch alone and choose their own names when they come of age and begin their great atrocities and deeds,” he said. Then, knowing better than to play a cat’s games, couldn’t help but asking, “Nevermind what?”

“My mother gave me my name, because even she couldn’t find me in the dark,” said Newmoon. “Anyway, I thought if you were a good dragon, you might be able to help her.” The cat turned her gaze and for the first time the dragon noticed a child, dressed in rags, paralyzed with fear, staring up at him from among the prickers. Obscured by the vegetation, she had escaped his notice, even though she was enwombed in a sparking veil of ambient Manna, something he had not seen in a human for a very long time.

The terrified girl was filthy, her breath hitching in ragged gasps. Dragonfear is not Magical, it is merely a natural response to being in the presence of an apex predator. Countless mice cornered by Newmoon over the years had reacted similarly in the moments before their deaths.

Wrathmongous had not seen a human up close in some time. For all his braggadocio, he had grown wary of them after an incident some years ago. While swooping low on a reconnaissance mission over one of their settlements, some contraption had shot a spear at him. Arrows in the past had bounced harmlessly off his armored hide, but the long bolt from the ballista had pierced him under the wing.

The searing pain had been bad enough, but worse was the realization that he was not invulnerable. Furthermore, the metal tip of the missile had been treated with some poison. The wound had never quite healed completely, despite being cauterized with Dragonfire. Since then he had avoided humans at all costs. The child began screaming, a high-pitched wail that made Newmoon flatten her ears.

The cat leapt from her perch, trotted toward where the girl lay, and hopped up onto her chest. The dragon thought she was about to comfort her, evidence that the rumors were true: cats were in league with humans, but instead the black cat stared into the child’s eyes and purred. Tendrils of Manna formed between them, and her exhalations coalesced into purple clouds that the cat inhaled deeply through her nose. The girl collapsed into sleep.

“What did you do?” asked the dragon.

“I stole her breath so that we may speak undisturbed. She will sleep a bit, but hunger will wake her before long. Now what news do you have of the conclave?” replied the cat, her eyes blazing with fresh Manna.

Wrathmongous was dubious of the cat’s intentions. Unlike unicorns, ettins, merfolk, wights and many other Magical creatures, who had begun to shyly retire to the hidden parts of the earth as humans had spread, cats had somehow ingratiated themselves to the advancing apes. Other species were unsure whether they had formed an alliance or were acting as sleeper agents, but everything knew that one should be suspicious of the slinky things.

“I hear only gossip in birdsong,” said the dragon, “The desire exists, but few deem the issue as pressing as I.”

“That’s a shame,” replied Newmoon. “The humans have had many conclaves. They share their knowledge and build more incredible things each year, spreading further and further all the time. I was looking for some when I stumbled upon this one,” she said, indicating the child.

“Where are her people?” asked the dragon.

“Dead,” said Newmoon, grimly. “Humans in number are less likely to parley than they are to merely take what they want. She hid under the woodpile while her family was slaughtered. I watched from a tree and have been following her since, but without some aid she will surely join them soon.”

“Good,” said the dragon, eyeing the sleeping child, “They are vermin.” Clouds of Manna had coalesced around the girl’s sleeping form into a sparkling blanket that swirled with her breathing.

“You would educate a cat on the nature of vermin?” Newmoon laughed, “Go ahead, then, eat her. One time I ate a glowing mouse who claimed to be a prophet and I became completely invisible for a week.”

The dragon considered this. One less human in the world would be a boon for all other creatures, and the child was brimming with more Manna than he had ever detected in one of the bipeds. Some of the humans were in touch with Magic, but fewer and fewer of each generation seemed to even believe such forces existed. The child was a rare find. He imagined himself filled with her power, weaving an arcane shield around himself and returning to the settlement with the ballista.

“They taste terrible,” lord the dragon, “but don’t tempt me, I’m hungry enough to eat a cat.”

Newmoon narrowed her eyes. “I would give you indigestion the likes of which would make you crave death,” she said, adding “Or you could perhaps trade her to some humans for something to treat that wound.”

A dragon’s vanity will bid it to kill any creature it suspects detects even the merest hint of vulnerability in them, but to openly acknowledge such a proud and dangerous beast’s weakness was to court disaster and invite death through the front door. Wrathmongous bristled, boggling at the cat’s insolence as a flame ignited in his belly. He raised his wings and lifted his head, deciding to incinerate the cat and her arrogance, and the human child as well, just to be done with the whole affair, but curiosity tempered his rage and as he wondered what had given away his pains to the cat, the fires within him died down. Newmoon remained impassive throughout the whole display.

“How can you tell I am unwell?” asked the dragon.

Newmoon grimaced, baring white fangs. “You smell of lizard and fire and brimstone, but beneath that is the barest hint of graverot from your wound. Things are changing in this world, oh humongous one. Perhaps there will not be room for all things anymore. Your cousins the wyverns have already fled to the frigid north, no cat has seen one in a hundred generations.”

Wrathmongous considered the hard truth of the cat’s words. Dragons were long lived, but not immortal. Many mundane beasts had been hunted to extinction in recent centuries and wyverns were not the only Fantastic ones to flee to far reaches of the land. There was a ring of volcanic islands in the distant south and he thought sometimes of retiring there a while to bathe his wound in lava, but the thought of nothing to eat but fish had stayed him. In the back of his mind was a plan to treat the injury with unicorn blood, but he had not seen one of the horned horses in longer than he could remember.

“Cats don’t seem to mind the way things are going,” said the dragon, disdainfully.

Newmoon flattened her ears against her arrowhead-shaped skull, narrowed her slitted eyes, and bared her fangs whilst shaking her tail behind her. “Adapt or die,” she hissed, presenting every aspect of a venomous serpent, before faltering into chirping laughs.

“Dragons do not adapt,” said Wrathmongous, “They conquer and dominate.” He could barely contain his rage, but there was truth in the cat’s words.

“A bold plan for the future,” said the cat, barely containing her amusement. They sat in silence for a while, regarding the sleeping child as birds in the nearby forest chirped gossip about the trio. Manna sparkled around the sleeping girl in the bright afternoon sun.

After some time Newmoon spoke. “I have wandered long,” she said. “My intention has been to find a human settlement and trade my skills as a mouser for warmth and shelter. We cats believe that in time we shall have them all domesticated and catering to our every whim. However, now that we’ve met, I have an idea. Alas, perhaps it is foolish.”

“Speak it, Cat,” said the dragon, “It can not be more foolish than this notion that these stupid, violent human brutes will someday bring you food in little bowls or whatever fantasy your preposterous kind has crafted.

Nor will it be as good as my idea. We shall call a conclave and present her to all assembled to be used as a bargaining chip to cow the humans into submission.”

“I was thinking something else,” purred Newmoon. “We could bring her somewhere safe and raise her as one of us, which she is. We could teach her our ways and our Magics. At our invitation, other Fantastic creatures will come to meet her. In time we might find her a powerful ally in dealing with others of her kind.”

Wrathmongous considered this. The plan had merit, but would take years to bear fruit. He wondered if he had that much time, tendrils of ache spread from the wound, growing closer to his heart with each passing season. Perhaps news of the child might even draw the Elves, who had disappeared so long ago that no living dragon had ever seen one. An Elf’s Magic could save him, but the thought was as fanciful as any cat’s daydream.

He felt cheated, doomed to die while still in his prime, but considered his legacy. His atrocities were barely enough to distinguish him from a thousand other Fire Drakes that had rained flame and misery from the skies since the land was new, but perhaps a deed like this could cause his memory to live on.

“There are caves by the sea where I killed the Kraken,” said Wrathmongous, “The merfolk there are my subjects and will help you care for the girl. We will send word about this orphaned human far and wide enough to reach the wyverns. An alliance shall form around her.”

Newmoon smiled, “Let us hope, oh humongous one,” she said, before addressing the birds in the forest behind her with a yowling cry. “Spread word of this plan, you nosy tits, we know you’ve been eavesdropping. Spread word of the girl in the cave by the sea.”

The resulting cacophony of chirping awakened the child, who looked up at the scene with confusion. The cat leapt from her perch to offer the girl some feline comfort. “Who knows,” said Newmoon, “Perhaps she might even heal you.”