The Dragon Who Didn't Fly Read online



  Synopsis of

  The Dragon Who Didn’t Fly

  By C. M. Barrett

  Originally published as

  Big Dragons Don’t Cry

  Dear Reader,

  Do you ever forget why you downloaded or bought a book? I do. I put this synopsis at the beginning to help you remember.

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  If He Doesn’t Fly, His World Will Die

  After naming Druid the Dragon of Destiny, his parents abandoned him in a swamp, and he bitterly vowed to never fly again.

  Now his destiny is looking a lot like death. Malvern Frost, a cunning and malicious opportunist, wants to destroy the swamp and turn it into real estate. Only the dragon’s presence prevents him from realizing his dream of wealth and power.

  Exploiting a centuries-old fear of the allegedly vicious creature few have seen, the would-be tycoon tries to ignite the humans’ terror into murderous rage. Enthusiasm for killing the dragon builds, and Frost realizes that with his rising popularity, he could topple the current government and establish himself as dictator.

  Druid needs allies, but those he meets—a kitten who hasn’t learned diplomacy and a young woman who’s afraid to reveal her psychic gifts—don’t know how to save him from death and the nation from tyranny. They must overcome communication difficulties, mutual mistrust, and delusions of human superiority before it’s too late. And Druid must abandon his vow and fly.

  Slavery, Freedom, or Death?

  Read your free copy of

  The Snake Charmer’s Daughter, a novella.

  Prequel to A Dragon’s Guide to Destiny.

 

  When a foreign nation conquers her land, Zena, an apprentice snake charmer and mind master, becomes a slave in the Emperor’s harem. A dedicated sadist runs the harem, and the Emperor is a temperamental drug addict.

  Determined to escape, she resists those who urge her to start a slave revolt. Heroes have short lives and violent deaths. Soon, though, she learns the power of friendship and love and can no longer turn her back on the suffering of others. As life in the harem becomes increasingly perilous, Zena wonders if leading a rebellion is the only way she can survive.

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  The Dragon Who Didn’t Fly

  Copyright (c) 2011 by C.M. Barrett

  * * * *

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  * * * *

  Rainbow Dragon Press

  Cover design by Mnsartstudio via fiverr.com

  Visit my web site at https://www.cmbarrett.com

  Books by C. M. Barrett

  Fantasy Fiction

  A Dragon's Guide to Destiny Series

  The Snake Charmer’s Daughter: Prequel to the Series

  The Dragon Who Didn’t Fly: Book I

  Dance with Clouds: Book II

  House of the Moon: Book III

  Book of Sorrows: Book IV

  Literary Fiction

  Gone to Flowers

  Fiction/Humor

  Cats in Charge:

  A Guide to the Training and Education of Humans

  Nonfiction

  Animals Have Feelings, Too:

  Bach Flower Remedies for Cats and Dogs

  Renew Your Life The Natural Way:

  Balance Your Chakras with Crystals and Essences

  Bach Flower Remedies: A User-friendly Guide

  Visit https://www.cmbarrett.com for more information.

  Chapter 1

  The whisper of raindrops awoke Druid. He groaned and covered his ears with his paws. This silenced the dismal dripping, but nothing could prevent him from hearing the call of duty, even when its fulfillment yielded fewer rewards than scratching his scales.

  Druid heaved his bulk into a standing position and lumbered from his cave at the bottom of the cliffs that bordered the swamp. He raised his head to the misty sky and recited the ancient water dragon ritual.

  “The rains are here. The earth springs alive again. All creatures rejoice, Mother, at the gift of Your tears.”

  The words settled like dust in Druid’s mouth. During the five hundred years humans had occupied the land beyond the swamp, he’d had trouble believing in either the litany or the Mother it honored.

  The delicate pattern of life that made the earth whole had begun to deteriorate with their arrival. Both floods and drought had become more common. Refuse choked the rivers, and the grass in the meadows close to human settlements grew pale and sparse. Sometimes Druid wondered if these strange animals survived by sucking the life out of the land.

  Today the deterioration seemed to have accelerated, like rot biting deeper into the heart of a tree. Agitation stirred the sluggish waters of Druid’s habitual depression. Though humans were probably responsible for this latest disruption, he scanned the swamp to search for a local disturbance: one of the plagues that occasionally swept through the rodent communities or the far more common misbehavior of half-grown wolves.

  Nothing seemed changed. As usual, Spanish moss cloaked brooding cypress trees, forming curtains that stretched from tree to tree and muted the sunlight. The ponds that sprouted blackened tree stumps like decayed teeth remained as stagnant as ever.

  The dragon’s awareness traveled to other parts of the swamp: the golden seas of saw grass and the dark splendor of the islands that dotted them, the twisted scarlet roots of mangroves belting the area between swamp and sea. He sensed no discord among the creatures who shared this world with him. In a nearby tree, the attention of a hungry hawk was drawn to baby mice who fretted in their mother’s absence. Druid heard a cougar’s distant growl and the delicate hoof steps of deer. Insects, stirred to life by the rain, buzzed in their billions.

  Beyond the boundaries of the swamp lay the human world he’d never seen. Druid called on the pictures that birds had given him of the belching creatures used to stab the earth for growing plants, and the caves of stones and wood filled with bloodless beings that hummed and flashed. Still further to the east stood a place of deadness named City, where life tried to survive with little sun or earth.

  In the center of this dead place stood tall caves where humans made plans that threatened other animals. Druid focused his attention there, and the discord burned like a tree struck by lightning. His nostrils filled with the acrid odor of despair.

  From the first moment he’d seen them, carrying sticks that spewed out fire no more deadly than the hatred they breathed, he’d known them as enemies. His father’s stone-shattering roar had transformed their rage into terror. Physically unharmed, they’d dashed from the swamp, their shriveled hearts swollen with the stuff of nightmares. Only fools and madmen had ever approached the swamp during the following centuries, and the roar Druid had learned from his father had always sent them scurrying back to the safety of their foul cities.


  Now the opposite has happened. Their fear feeds their hatred. They approach, the poison of their emotions staining the forest floor. I may finally discover whether my parents told the truth when they said human weapons couldn’t penetrate my scales. Why should I believe them? They lied about everything else.

  “Druid! The humans come!”

  The screech thrust Druid out of his trance. Tomo, leader of the cougars, bounded down the path to the cave. “They’re near the place in the forest where fire took many trees last summer.”

  Alarm ruffled Druid’s scales. “They haven’t come that close in a hundred years. Why now?”

  “We can talk about why later,” Tomo growled. “You’ve got to drive them out quickly.”

  Druid, not anxious for an aerobic trot, considered the possibility of a psychic confrontation. As a young water dragon, he’d learned how to transmit an essence of terror so powerful it could make humans believe he stood before them. Now he was so out of practice that he’d probably give himself a sinus headache if he tried, and he’d be laid up for days. Worse, if it didn’t work, animals would die. He already heard frightened shrieks that turned his water to steam.

  He would have to make a live appearance, but that required exertion. His legs, longer than the length of Tomo’s body, could cover a lot of ground, but they had to carry a body weighted down from a long, idle winter of eating kelp.

  He wheezed as he followed Tomo back along the trail.

  The cougar glanced at him. “Why don’t you fly there? It would be faster.”

  “A faster way to die. Imagine the target I’d make.”

  “True, but, now that I think about it, I’ve never seen you fly.”

  Druid didn’t want even his best friend to know why he didn’t fly. “Let’s not discuss my exercise habits. Did you see the humans?”

  “No, a young squirrel, Tolti, brought me the news.” The cougar stopped so quickly that the dragon nearly tumbled over him. “She heard them speaking. They said they were going to take water from the swamp.”

  Druid quivered with an amplified sense of wrongness.

  “Dragon, you know this squirrel. Does she have a brain in her tiny head?”

  “None of them are empty-headed. Their thoughts travel as quickly as they race up and down trees. Tolti was one of my better students, and she always listened carefully. We can believe her. Did the humans say how they intend to do this?”

  “They said only that it would be done and that the swamp would be theirs.”

  “It will not.” Rage gave Druid speed, and they soon reached the place where the swamp met the woodlands. Other cougars, alligators and a few eagles waited for them. “I see them,” an eagle shrieked. “Their fuzzy heads bob up and down in the distance.”

  Druid’s eyes were not nearly so keen, but he smelled the rank human odor. Fury ennobled him. He rose to his full height, his long neck curving gracefully, his mane streaming in the breeze. Steam poured from his nostrils. He roared, a sound that began at the tip of his long tail, rushed up through his body, and exploded from his mouth in shattering thunder. The humans screamed, and, in a wake of cracking branches, dashed towards the fields.

  For long moments the animals waited silently. When the sound of clumsy footsteps disappeared, they shouted, “Hail, Druid! Hail our guardian and protector!”

  Druid bowed his head. “It’s my job. Now I need to go home and lie down.”

  “I’ll escort you,” Tomo said. “Alone,” he growled at the squirrels and chipmunks who tried to follow Druid in a ragged victory parade.

  Tomo waited until they were out of earshot and then asked, “What would you have done if they’d entered the swamp?”

  Druid hissed, spraying the cougar with steam. “Do you speak so to the Keeper? Do you believe I hold my vows lightly? The day humans set foot in the swamp with murder in their hearts and the means of it in their hands will be the last for all of them and their kind.”

  Tomo’s eyes narrowed to amber slits. “The legends are true? You’ll summon the fire dragons to destroy the human caves and burn their fields?”

  Druid shook his head. “I don’t even know where they live. As usual, this lonely dragon will have to take matters into his own paws, but I’d rather humans killed me than know that my cowardice caused one animal to die. Face it, if it comes to that, we can be certain the Mother has abandoned us.”

  “I already have my suspicions on that subject.” Tomo growled. “Admit it, so do you. We’re on our own.”

  “I keep that thought to myself, and I urge you to do the same. Despair can destroy the World more quickly than even the humans.”

  “Especially the despair of a dragon,” Tomo said. “It’s heavier than the spring rains.”

  “I try not to let it show, and when I can teach the young only cynicism, I’ll stop. If I have any hope, it’s that one of them, a new being, undiscouraged by a world damp with tears of despair, can lead us back to wholeness.”

  “I’ll try to share your hope. In the meantime, what do we do about our knowledge of the humans’ plans? I told Tolti to keep her little nutcracker shut, but she may have told half the swamp already. And we don’t know who else may have heard the humans.”

  “Hope it wasn’t Gris,” Druid said. “That hawk has no discretion. Unless we notice rumors getting out of control, I’d rather wait until we’ve observed the rain rituals. Let our friends celebrate this expulsion of the humans. It will strengthen them for what may be coming.”

  “I yield to your wisdom,” Tomo said. “And I’ll leave you now to contemplate the events of the day.”

  “Thank you,” said Druid, who was tired of contemplation.

  So it has come, long after I’d given up hope that the romantic myths spun by that pair of careless drifters called my parents would ever come to pass. Now that I’ve accepted my peaceful, if boring and more than a little disappointing, life, the disruption arrives that makes my heart quicken with the possibility that they might have told the truth, that I’ll yet discover myself as a dragon of destiny.

  And probably fail.

  On the evening of the rain celebration Druid left his cave to wash himself in the sea. The water spread silken folds over his hide. When he finished washing, he dove to the bottom in search of some particularly succulent varieties of kelp, but after eating a few strands, he lost his appetite, for the waving seaweed reminded him of his mother’s green mane, of abandonment and eons of loneliness. He shook himself dry and headed for the large island in the center of the swamp, trying to think cheerful thoughts about the glories of spring.

  During winter, the dry time, life for most of the animals was a continual search for water and food. Spring and the coming of rain gave rise to one of the most joyful celebrations in the swamp. The newest babies were introduced to the community and helped to find their places in the pattern. It was a time when all animals, in tribute to the end of deprivation, were pledged to disregard traditional predatory relationships.

  Meadowlarks flew side by side with eagles, and cougars stretched out in their tawny glory to watch fawns pick their trembling way through the meadow. The animals praised the rain and She who showered abundance on them.

  As the sky grew dark and the rains abated, the birds and animals gathered together in a large circle. “Let’s have a story,” called out a laughing gull.

  Tolti, the squirrel, who had found a place on Druid’s shoulder, said, “A dragon story.”

  “Yes, tell us a story, Wise One,” a wolf howled.

  A story would distract Druid from the concerns that had marred his enjoyment of the celebration. “What story shall I tell?” he asked the assembled animals.

  “Tell us of how the dragons and humans became enemies.”

  “That’s a very sad story, and old, older than even me.”

  Tomo’s golden eyes raked him. “Tell it.”

  Druid sighed. The cougar was right. The celebration was almost over. Tomorrow the animals would have to face possi
bilities more grim than winter.

  “When humans first appeared among us, they didn’t know how to do anything,” he began. “It looked as if they were going to be a small drop in the pond of history when the animals, in the spirit of She Who Teaches Us All, decided to instruct them.”

  “The birds and mice and beavers taught them how to build homes.”

  “The big cats taught them how to hunt,” said a cougar.

  “No interruptions,” someone muttered. “Show respect.”

  “The fire dragons looked down from the sky at the poor, shivering human beings and decided to give them their special gift of warmth and heat. At first, the humans were grateful to the animals, but as they learned these skills, they wanted to forget who had taught them. They wanted to believe themselves above the animals who, out of kindness, had helped them to survive and flourish. They wanted to think they had done it all by themselves.”

  A young cougar spoke out again. “That’s why they hate cats, for our wisdom. We remind humans that there are other intelligent animals around. For that knowledge they try to imprison us. Even now, our small cousins languish, maltreated and dishonored.”

  “Try being a turtle in a cage,” a snapper muttered.

  “You’re both right,” Druid said. “Humans do try to imprison or kill the animals they fear. They attempted to do so with dragons. My fire cousins had taught them how to start fires with wood and stones that burned, but humans found that to be hard work. Some human, may he be cursed, got the idea that it would be easier to trap dragons in order to have a ready source of fire.”

  Tolti pulled his ear. “May I ask a question?”

  “Ask, little one.”

  “How did the dragons allow themselves to be trapped?”

  “They thought it was a game. For a while they were patient, waiting to see how it was played. When they realized that the rules favored the humans, they decided to break them. They melted the prison bars with their fiery breath and flew away.

  “Some humans saw the lovely dragons flying in the air and shot at them with fire sticks. Though the weapons couldn’t penetrate the dragons’ thick scales, this act of hatred ensured that from that time on, dragons and humans would be enemies.”