I sat on a tussock of grass by the pool. The humming sound intensified, and a golden haze descended over the pool, blurring the outlines of trees and dimming the sky. I felt as if I were sinking into a puddle of honey, its stickiness binding my limbs, immobilizing reason and logic. Oddly, this sensation didn’t frighten me.
Slowly, a form began to shimmer in the amber mist, a green column that gradually resolved itself into the shape of a woman. Her skin was the tawny hue one often sees in a person of mixed Dolocairn and Etrenzian descent. Her hair seemed a mass of flowery vines, a madness of green and gold. Her eyes, too, were green, and more steady than any I had seen. Only the fixity of her stare kept me from leaping on my horse and riding away.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice as croaky as that of a frog rising from sluggish hibernation.
“I am She whom you seek.”
“I seek no one,” I said, but as soon as I spoke bubbles rose in my throat in effervescence, not unlike that fizzing alcohol drink the wealthy Tamarans had favored. The bubbles tickled, making me want to laugh in pure delight.
The apparition smiled. “Laughter pleases me.”
“And why should I want to please you?”
“Because I am your heart and soul.”
To my astonishment, I wanted to believe her, for the idea of a heart and soul, so insignificant to me before, suddenly assumed the greatest importance.
“Teach me,” I said.
You who are reading this will travel your own road to the visions she shared with me over the days that followed. She spurned the easy route of words, choosing instead to weave pictures. She showed me the plants soaking up water and nutrients from the soil, the mouse feasting on seeds, a cat feasting on a mouse. In countless ways she painted a portrait of wholeness through interdependence. She showed me that we are all partners in a great dance, and humans do not call the tune.
She didn’t scorn intellect and reason, but she showed me that, when unpartnered with feeling and emotion, its dance is awkward and stumbling and lonely. My own loneliness became a palpable sensation, and just when it seemed unbearable, she relieved it by drawing me into the circle of wholeness.
I opened my eyes, and the Lady leaned over me. “Your remaining days are few,” she said. “You must preserve what you have learned for the time when others will be ready to read it.”
And so I have done my best to share my vision of why we must unite heart and mind in order to realize our own wholeness. Each person will find her own way to this unity, but you, who are reading this now, especially if you are the Guardian, must do everything possible to assist in the work of rebalancing. Call it not work, though. Call it the lightening of burdens. Call it joining in the Dance.
Call it knowing the world is love made manifest. We humans have been too busy shaping the world so that we may appear to be its masters. We engage in a love-hate struggle with the natural world when no struggle is necessary. All that is necessary is to allow the harmony to live in our own hearts.
It took me months to arrive at the knowledge that now illuminates my being. You may not have that kind of leisure, but the fact that my Testament has come into your hands tells me that you have been slowly, perhaps even unknowingly, making your own journey towards illumination.
Trust that journey, and trust Her to guide you further.
May the Lady bless you who read this. May She touch your heart.
Phileas touched his wet eyes. He didn’t know what to do now.
Chapter 23
Serazina and Berto came to the edge of the woods. Berto gulped, looking out at the marshlands. “I guess that’s the swamp, right?”
Serazina nodded.
“Well, here goes disaster. I wish you’d warned me. I would have worn different shoes and different trousers, probably an entirely different body, maybe one a little more flame resistant.”
“If I can face the dragon, so can you,” Tara said.
“Noisy little kitten,” Berto said.
“She was talking.” Serazina repeated Tara’s words.
“Right, I forgot she talks. I keep on forgetting all the important things.”
* * *
Tara, remembering Tomo’s request for advance warning, signaled him with a piercing cry. Within a few minutes a younger cougar darted through the saw grass and growled a greeting.
“Wonderful,” Berto said, his face pale. “I should have brought a change of underwear. Just warn me if there are going to be any more sudden appearances.”
“My name is Monti,” the cougar said. “What’s with the male? I thought we were only going to see the girl.”
“She couldn’t bear being the only human who knew the truth about the dragon and the world.”
“That’s understandable, I suppose, but let’s not make a habit of it. I can assure you no one in the swamp wants humans to start treating this place like their private property. We don’t want swarms of them wrecking the place.”
Tara looked at the drooping saw grass, mucky earth, and the vulture soaring overhead. “I’d say that won’t be a problem.”
The cougar growled. “Don’t get wise. You may consider it a dump, but it’s home.”
“They’re talking?” Berto asked Serazina.
The cougar’s tail flicked. “He doesn’t understand?”
“Humans generally don’t.”
“No kidding. What’s the sense of bringing him here if he can’t relate?”
“He needs to see the dragon so he knows there’s no threat from Druid.”
“How’s he going to know that if they can’t communicate? One friendly roar from Druid, and the kid’s going to be running back to civilization.”
Tara hadn’t thought of that.
“Maybe I should run ahead and warn Druid not to roar.”
“Good idea, I’ll escort the guests. Don’t worry, I won’t feed them to the alligators.”
* * *
Serazina wished Tara hadn’t left, because she didn’t quite know what to say to Monti. “Nice swamp you have here.” “Do you have any hints about removing mud and muck?” The possibilities weren’t exactly endless.
Finally, she decided that if the cougar wanted to have a conversation, he could speak.
“It’s strange,” Berto said. “Now that I know animals can speak to us, I feel a little bit as if I understand them.”
“Genius,” Monti growled. “We turn left here for the dragon’s cave.”
“The air is starting to smell different,” Berto said.
Monti sniffed. “That’s the sea.”
“The sea?” Serazina started to run. “I’ve never seen it.”
“Why not?” Monti looked astonished.
“Well, some people go far south of here to harvest salt, but I haven’t been. I’ve only seen pictures.”
“In your mind?”
“Those, too, but pictures on screens. A screen is something flat like a rock, but it’s also clear like water, and you can see things on it.”
“Amazing and even interesting. Tell me some more things about humans.”
Serazina elaborated on computers, described refrigerators, washing machines, and showers.
“It’s a strange way to live,” the cougar said, “but it shows a certain cunning.”
They came to the top of a hill, and Serazina saw the endless dark blue expanse of water, maned with white foam. “Oh, Berto!”
“I know.”
Serazina didn’t know how long they stood in silence. Who could measure time against the endless procession of waves, the song of the sea? Finally, watching wasn’t enough. She had to feel it.
She pulled her shoes off and threw them in the grass. The white sand was warm and silky beneath her feet. Serazina paused again before pulling off her tunic and trousers. Finally she jumped into the water.
Berto hesitated and did the same. “Oh, it’s beautiful, almost better than sex or drugs.”
“It isn’t just the feel of it. Smell it, listen, look at the
rainbows the water makes.”
They jumped into the waves and swam for a while. The tingle of the water on Serazina’s skin reminded her of the Lady’s gaze.
She heard a thumping that wasn’t the slap of the waves against the shore. “Berto, I think the dragon is coming.”
“And I’m not even dressed.”
They scrambled out of the water and put on their clothes. Serazina was belting her tunic when the dragon, led by Tara, became visible.
“Nathan’s whiskers, he’s huge,” Berto whispered.
Serazina ran to meet the dragon. The sun came out from a cloud, and beams of light illuminated his green mane, turning it the color of glowing emerald. For one blazing moment she saw the Lady shaping his features, molding the flare of his nostrils, weaving the coat of iridescent scales that covered him.
Him and me, Berto, everything. She is constantly creating us. A thought, a word, a feeling, and we instantly become more or less beautiful, further away or closer to Her design.
* * *
Druid paused to appreciate the girl’s vision, allowing it to flow through him like water. “Thank you. To share this is like seeing Her for the first time. You’ve restored my faith.”
The boy looked confused. Ancient strands of fear and prejudice lightly circled an awareness that was—difficult word—aesthetic, the sense of one who also created, a sense that soared above those limiting strands and burst free, like a dragon first learning how to fly.
Druid wished this boy could hear him directly. The quality of Berto’s being tingled within him like the sea on his skin. Look at me, he said silently. Look into me. Feel the depth of my desire. You can do this, young human.
“You’re noble,” Berto said. “You’re kind and beautiful. I’d love to paint you.”
“What is paint?” Druid asked.
“A picture with colors,” Serazina said.
“In the mind, imagination?”
“Berto, draw the dragon in the sand.”
He picked up a stick and traced the dragon’s image on wet sand, adding subtle crosshatching to indicate scales, describing the mane as a great, sweeping wave.
Monti and Druid watched with great interest. The cougar ran his talons through the sand. “With practice, I might do that myself, but it’s the thought of doing it that’s wonderful.”
“I wish he’d made me a little slimmer,” Druid said, “but it is an astonishing likeness.”
Berto signed his sand drawing. “If I were painting, I’d use brushes and a flat surface called a canvas. Then the picture lasts a long time, hundreds of years.”
“I’ve lasted that long,” Druid said. “Oh, I wish you could understand me.”
“He understood you when he drew you,” Serazina said. “Berto, keep drawing. Druid, lean a little this way.”
He twisted in a way that concealed his bulk, and Berto’s stick flew.
Serazina spoke to Berto while he drew, and Tara purred.
“Remember, Berto, how when you first met Tara, you said you thought animals could communicate? You thought the scientists were wrong. They are wrong. Druid, talk to Berto.”
Druid thought that he might be able to reach the boy by talking about the drawing. “I like how you’ve captured the curve of my neck. I always thought it one of my best features. And I’ve never seen the wind blow through my mane. That is lovely. And you see the sadness in my eyes.”
Berto finished Druid’s eyelashes and drew a tear. The dragon gasped. “You understand! You hear me.”
The boy’s stick skidded. “He’s awfully loud. What did he say?”
“That you understand his sadness, that you hear him.”
“But I don’t. Anyone could look at him and see that he’s sad.”
“Berto, how many people have looked at dragons? How many people could begin to understand Druid’s feelings? Listen, really listen, as if your life depended on it. Stop drawing and look into his eyes. Even if you don’t understand him at first, keep listening. Listen with your heart.”
Druid’s heart swelled as she spoke. Her voice spun a circle of love that drew him closer to the boy.
Berto gazed at him. “I’m sorry you’re sad.”
“I’m hoping things will change,” Druid said, speaking slowly. “I’ve been much more cheerful since all of you showed up.”
Berto’s eyes widened, and a slow smile spread across his face. “I heard you. Serazina, I heard him.”
“That boy was easier to open up than you were,” Tara said to Serazina.
Serazina frowned. “He had a little advance warning; I convinced him that communication was possible. Besides, he wasn’t chasing a kitten through the awful . . . through a strange place.”
They all sat on the beach for a while, talking about the human who wanted to kill Druid. He wanted to reassure them. “They’ll never kill me. I can easily leave. What worries me is the destruction and murder they’ll wreak in their march through the swamp. I’m the Keeper. If I abandon them, I abandon the most important part of myself.”
“We have to trust,” Tara said, sounding very mistrustful, “but we also have to pay attention to every detail.”
Berto said, “Maybe it’s something about the dragon that’s important. Like, you, Serazina, can read hearts and minds, and that connected you to the Guardian. Now it’s helping you communicate with all the animals. The kitten has a similar gift, and she’s inspired a lot of cats to join this Quest. Both of you have courage and loyalty.”
Tomo loped down the beach to join them. Monti greeted his father with an affectionate yowl. “These humans want to know what qualities make Druid special. You’ve known him longer than I have.”
“He’s passionate, loyal, and brave, as the others involved in the Quest are alleged to be.”
“What about the fire breathing thing?” Berto asked.
“Yes, how could we forget?” Serazina said.
Their excitement licked at him like flames. He wondered how to change the subject.
“Could we see?” Berto asked. “Maybe, for the sake of safety, you could blow out towards the water.”
“Yes!” The kitten jumped up and down.
Humiliation crept in a stealthy way towards him. He had a feeling this was only the beginning.
“I’m a water dragon.”
“A water dragon?” The two humans and the kitten looked at each other.
“I never heard of a water dragon,” Serazina said.
“Dragons represent each of the elements; that’s how we help to keep the world in balance. Water dragons stand for the healing qualities of emotion.”
Serazina’s eyes lit up. “You’re here to teach us that.”
“Yes,” Tara said, but Druid caught an unshielded thought. Those fire dragons must be quite impressive.
He didn’t blame the cat. Teaching, though useful, was hardly either dramatic or worth five hundred years of waiting.
Tomo, good friend that he was, looked at the humans and cat with amusement and just a hint of feline contempt.
“Of course, he’s a water dragon,” he said, “and exactly what we need during the dry season here. More than once Druid saved this swamp by putting fires out. I call that special.”
They all agreed that it was, but as they looked at the ocean and imagined the wet, in fact, sodden, and in many places moldy swamp they’d come through, they couldn’t imagine a time when the place was dry as tinder, and animals could die of thirst.
Berto, probably believing himself thoughtful, changed the subject. “What about flying? Don’t all dragons do that?”
Serazina clapped her hands. “Oh, I’d love to see you fly.”
Tomo gave him a look that suggested he’d been thinking of Druid’s refusal to explain why he didn’t fly. The look also made clear that the cougar couldn’t help him out with this one.
Druid’s heart sank to his tail. Growing humiliation brought with it the moment of truth, complete with more suffering. Yet in the midst of his anguish, h
e felt a dim but growing relief that he could finally unload the burden of deception. It would be terrible to reveal himself, and they might all despise him, but the truth weighed more heavily in him than the aftermath of a kelp-eating binge.
He told them the full story of his abandonment.
“So sad.” Serazina’s eyes filled with tears.
Tara’s eyes, however, were as narrowed and molten as he’d feared they’d be. “Why did you leave the flying part out before?”
He bowed his head. “I’ve never been proud of that vow, which is why I tried to never think about it.”
Tara raised a paw. “Stop right there. I understand more than you think. I’ve never been completely alone, but when I first went to Serazina’s house, I felt that way. I also know that I’ve done and said foolish things when I felt betrayed, but I had wise parents to set my paws back on the right path—”
“And I didn’t have parents at all!” Fully experiencing anger was surprisingly easy. “And if you’d let me continue, you’d hear me say that I’ve realized that I have to let go of that vow. I know I need to fly. The Quest may demand it.”
“It may indeed.” The kitten’s eyes faded to a soft yellow, but they still regarded him keenly. “Your words sound good, but I hear a lack of . . . conviction.”
Druid didn’t need to have that pointed out. Humiliation had not relaxed but tightened its grip, squeezing out yet another moment of truth. Now that he had to fly, he wasn’t sure he could. Five hundred years was more than enough time for inertia to set in, and his wing muscles probably had the strength of seaweed. Tomo and Monti wouldn’t shun him if he failed, but these new friends who didn’t know the first thing about dragons—
“Maybe all of you should go away for a little while.
He shouldn’t have been surprised that Serazina understood first. Druid already knew her as a being who could almost match him for emotional intensity. Now he saw something new in her: a dry-eyed intensity and determination.
“Druid, I know a lot about thinking I can’t do something. My parents never abandoned me, although I often thought my mother—well, never mind. I know how it feels to be lonely, though, and I know how fear feels. Sometimes I think I’ve been nothing but frightened since this whole thing began, but if I stop now, my father will never be able to come home, and you—and all the animals here—might get killed. So I have to keep on and do things that frighten me.”