Dragon Moon (15 page)

He looks so sorrowful that I laugh and say, “Tonight we can fly to the edge of Cockpit Country, past Windsor but no farther, okay?”

Henri can't wait, drags me downstairs a half hour before nightfall. He wanders around the pool, climbs onto the diving board, steps back off as we wait.

I savor the calm of the evening, watch the sky darken, the first stars appear. Barely any clouds obstruct the view. A full moon hangs low in the sky, a silver halo of reflected light around it. “It's a wonderful night to fly,” I say, point to the sky. “See the ring around the moon?”

Henri nods, says, “What is it?”

“Humans say it's moisture in the air, reflecting the moon's light. Our kind, the People of the Blood, call it Dwyla's Moon — though my mother always insisted on calling it a Dragon Moon.”

“Why?”

“She said it sounded more romantic that way. My father didn't like it, but she always called herself a dragon too. I think it's because she spent so much time with humans when she grew up. Anyway, when I was little my mother used to tell me the story of Dwyla and Kestur whenever a halo appeared around the moon,” I say, smiling when Henri comes closer, staring into the sky.

“Tell me,” he says. “Please, Papa.”

I start it the same way my mother used to. “A long time ago, before there were humans, there was a young maiden called Dwyla, one of our kind, the daughter of a very powerful household. When it came time for her to leave to meet a male of her own, her father, Magnus, who was jealous and selfish, locked her in a cell below his house. Still, there was nothing he could do to stop her scent and soon males of our kind began to come to see if they could make her their bride.

“Magnus fought each one, chasing some away and killing others. But one day a young male came that he couldn't chase away, that he couldn't kill. They fought for days, in the air, on the ground, without either being able to beat the other.

“Finally, the young male, Kestur was his name, suggested that rather than fight any more, they should have a contest. Dwyla would stay with the winner.

“Agreeing, Magnus asked the younger male what competition he had in mind. ‘Let your daughter choose it,' Kestur said.

“Magnus brought Dwyla up from her cell and told her about their agreement. She listened and looked at Kestur. As soon as she saw him, she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

“She tried to think of a competition that Kestur would be sure of winning. Magnus was known to be powerful so she decided to avoid any contests of strength. He was a renowned hunter so she tried to think of some other feat. But Magnus was also older, heavy around his middle, ‘I will stay with whoever flies highest, the fastest,' she said.

“Kestur leapt into the air, Magnus just behind him. Dwyla watched from the ground until both were almost out of her sight. Unwilling not to see who won, she took to the air too and followed them.

“They flew up above the mountains, above the clouds, Kestur always in front, Magnus behind, Dwyla following both. They flew higher as the air grew thin and cold and the earth grew small beneath them. Still Kestur continued, leaving Magnus farther and farther behind him until the older creature knew he had no chance of catching up.

“Magnus turned back, gliding toward earth, passing his daughter along the way. ‘He's yours and you're his,' he said.

“‘Forever,' Dwyla said, flying after her mate.

“But Kestur had no idea he had won. He wouldn't risk looking back or stopping. He flew on, away from earth, flying faster and farther than anyone of the Blood ever did, until exhausted, his heart burst and he fell to the surface of the moon.

“Dwyla found him there and circled over him, crying for her lost mate. According to the legend she's flown around the moon ever since. The halo you see are the tears she leaves behind her.”

Henri stares at the moon and its halo for a few moments. “That's not true, is it, Papa?”

“Maybe not,” I say. “But every Dragon Moon, my mother used to make me wish that I would find a mate who would be as faithful to me as Dwyla was to Kestur.”

I allow Henri to change shape first, and follow him into the air. He no longer struggles to flap his wings, no longer loses control on his turns. He knows how to glide now, when to use it to conserve energy. I wish there was someone I could brag to about his progress.

Taking the lead, I fly toward Windsor, diving and turning, spiraling high and diving again. Henri follows, giggling when I dodge in an unanticipated direction and lose him for a moment. {
Not fair!
} he mindspeaks.

{
Life isn't fair,
} I say, studying the land below, spotting a small dog meandering down a path near an empty pasture. {
Tell me what you see.
}

Henri spirals, looks at the ground. {
A dog?
}

{
Make believe it's a human. Bring it to me.
}

{
Do I have to kill it?
} Henri says.

Father would have been furious at his reluctance. It makes me smile. The child has played with dogs his entire life. It's only natural for him to avoid hurting one unnecessarily. {
No, son. Just bring it to me. Then you can put it back.
}

Henri descends in a long wide spiral, gathering speed as he nears the ground, his trajectory flattening as he shoots toward the dog from its rear, his stomach only inches above the dirt path. He beats his wings, rises just an instant before he reaches the dog and grabs it with his rear claws. The dog yelps as it's jerked into the air. It continues to yowl as Henri carries it skyward.

{
Very good,
} I say. {
Your mother would have been proud of you.
}

{
Did you watch all of it, Papa?
} Henri says, holding the trembling dog close to his body, flying alongside me.

{
Every bit. You're going to be a great hunter. No doubt about it.
}

The dog whimpers and I say, {
Put it back, son. Let's fly the rest of the way now.
}

Henri banks, dives toward earth. I watch him and smile, looking forward to the day I can take him hunting with me, enjoying the serenity of the night, the moonlit beauty of the Jamaican countryside. Spiraling down to meet my son on his way up, I debate whether to let him follow me into Cockpit Country tonight.

The aroma of cinnamon and musk jolts me from my thoughts, envelops me for a moment and disappears as I drop below it. Shocked, disappointed, I roar my displeasure.

{
PAPA! What's wrong?
} Henri mindspeaks.

I know I should answer but I beat my wings and fly skyward, smelling it again for a moment only, passing it before I can level my flight. Spiraling downward slowly, I hit it again. Chloe's scent! I'm sure of it.

It must be the first scent of her first oestrus. Only a few thin wisps of vapor floating on the wind, nothing like the heavy aroma that Elizabeth gave off when I first found her. Still it sends me into rut. I roar into the sky again, my heart pumping so much blood that I can hear the echo of it in my ears.

{
PAPA!
}

It takes all my power to turn my attention to my son. {
It's okay, Henri,
} I say, struggling to control myself before he gets close, dropping below the scent. {
Nothing bad has happened. But we have to fly back home now. I told you one night I would know it's time for me to find Chloe.
}

Henri joins me, flies beside me, his eyes large. {
It's now, Papa?
}

{
I think it may be.
}

I have to force myself not to race back to Bartlet House. I spend an agonizing thirty minutes taking Henri inside, putting him to bed. “If I'm not here when you wake,” I say. “Just mindspeak to me. I'll hear you and come home.”

Henri hugs me and says, “When I wake up, I hope you're here, Papa.”

Even taking the steps two at a time, I'm in the air before I reach the bottom of the stairs to the pool deck. I waste no time spiraling, spare no moments taking in any sights as I race toward Cockpit Country. I do change altitudes as I fly, sniffing the air, seeking that wonderful burst of cinnamon and musk.

It eludes me until after I pass the last lights of Windsor, after I soar over the first egg-shaped hills of Cockpit Country. Again, it's only a hint of cinnamon and musk and again it takes over my body. I revel in it, break the quiet of the night with my roars. I'm done with sneaking through the skies of Cockpit Country like a timid mouse afraid of the cat. I no longer care who knows I'm here. All I care about now is finding Chloe.

The vagueness of the scent maddens me. I find it and it disappears. I follow it for miles and lose it, only to find it again, leading me elsewhere.

I fight to think through the pheromone-induced fog that has overtaken me. If this is Chloe's first night, she has to be either searching for a place to nest or building a bed of branches and leaves in a cave she has already chosen. Remembering the cave near Acoompong that both she and I had taken shelter in, I speed in that direction.

The mixed aroma of cinnamon and musk intensifies the nearer to the cave that I draw. It's still faint enough to make me doubt whether I'll find her there but strong enough to torment me with the promise of a willing mate.

I land at the mouth of the cave to find it empty. But the dank air within is permeated with Chloe's scent. Unable to resist the lure of cinnamon and musk, I venture inward, find a half-constructed bed of leaves and branches and twigs. If I sit and wait, I know she'll eventually appear.

But I'm no more capable of waiting than I am of resisting her scent. I take to the air again, patrol the valley and the others surrounding it. On my third circuit, I finally see her, flying below me, intent on the bundle of branches she carries in her foreclaws.

Chloe has no awareness of my scrutiny until I dive past her and zoom out of her sight.

I circle back, pass her again, this time on her right side before I dive out of sight.

“So soon?”
she says.
“My mum said sometimes it takes years to be found. You were the one I thought was in the back of the cave, weren't you?”

Returning, I fly beside her.
“Yes, I was.”

Chloe's light green scales almost shimmer in the full moon's light. Her scent, finally powerful now that I'm near, envelops me. It's all I can do not to take her now, but I make myself continue beside her and I wait for whatever signal she may give.

She stares at me in silence as we pass through one valley and enter another. Finally, just before we reach the cave, she says,
“Peter?”

Glad she remembers me well enough to recognize me, I say,
“Yes.”

Chloe bellows as if she were in pain, drops the bundle she's carrying.
“NO!”
she says.
“Get away! Leave me alone! I don't want you!”

13

Chloe's words hit me like a shotgun blast. For almost five years I've waited for this moment. During that time I'd wondered, over and over, what it would be like. I never once imagined she'd react like this. I contemplate folding my wings and just crashing to earth. But then, I think, what would happen to my son?

Peeling away from Chloe, I climb to look for air clean of her scent. No matter what height I reach, some trace of her remains. Every breath I take keeps me in rut. My heart feels as if it's going to beat its way out of my chest.

Below me, Chloe dives to earth, searches for her lost bundle of branches and twigs. I circle and watch her, the Dragon Moon's light illuminating the terrain below, glistening off her scales — my mind at war with my body.

I know all too well the biological imperatives of my kind. Once one of our females comes to term, she has no more power to refuse an instinct ingrained in a thousand generations of our kind than I do to ignore her scent. Only family members and the underage are immune to such things.

Chloe is in heat. No matter what she says, I know, if I close with her, she can't refuse me. Her body won't let her fight me. Once mated, our kind bond for life. After I have her, after I impregnate her, she'll have no other choice.

Still, I don't want to take her by force. I want her to want me with the same ache and need that I desire her.
“Chloe, look at the moon,”
I mindspeak.

She looks up from the ground, laughs, the sound of it in my mind harsh, unforgiving, like a short horn burst.
“It's Dwyla's moon. So what? Do you think you're Kestur? Did you imagine me a Dwyla, so faithful to you I'd be willing to sacrifice myself for you, for eternity?”

I sigh.
“I thought it a good omen.”

“You were married to my sister!”
She finishes gathering her bundle, takes to the air again.
“I deserve a mate of my own. One who's willing to fight for me.”

Circling wider, to leave her space, I say,
“I came here early to make sure no one else took you — not to avoid a fight. I fought and killed for your sister. I'd do the same for you.”