The Offering

The dawn sun couldn’t reach this deep into the forest, so far from the village, from where the villagers forage and hunt. This was the edge of his territory, they knew. Long ago, a hundred years prior, men had erected a pedestal here, at the edge, where the forest went from lush and verdant to twisted and thick, thorny, impassable. The villagers left the narrow dark gullies and rocky nooks to their protector to navigate, with his long sinewy body, flexible spine, and retractible wings.

He slithered along his forest floor, scales like war mail, protecting his flesh from roots and sticks. His nostrils flared, marking the scent. The scent of breast milk and urine. Long claws, dense and heavy like granite, sharp like flint, sunk into the trunks of trees, pulling his lithe body around and over rock outcroppings and through micro groves of ash trees, leaving swaths of paper-like bark in his wake. Despite his size, the dragon moved like a dancer, curling and stretching as needed to mold his body to the forest, making hardly any sound except a satisfying scraping, like the whittling of wood.

He could hear it now, mewling, awaking from sleep on its pedestal. This year, the offering lay in a basket made from thin willow branches.

From behind some trees, he watched and listened, and smelled. “Hmmmmmmm.”

His voice erupted gently from his throat, like a hot spring’s gushing vent bubbling over the pool’s surface.

The babe stilled at the sound.

“Felissitations, newcomer.” Reaching from out of sight, the dragon slowly extended a talon above the basket, poised to strike. The forest stilled: the crickets quelled their sawing, crows dipped their heads to one side, a bear nearby halted his huffing into mushroom caps.

Were the villagers thinking on this child now? Did they mourn the loss? Was a mother weeping, comforted by others who assured her the sacrifice was worth the year of protection? Maybe they had rituals performed, a song sung or a breakfast spread, in honor of the yearly offering. Possibly their temple led a service, as humans often preferred. They found a way to mount their grief, for a child was always there on this day, for the past fifty years.

A chubby hand emerged from the basket and encircled the slippery smooth trunk of the claw. Then another hand encircled the first and the babe emerged naked, pulling up on this anchor.

The dragon emerged from the trees, in full view for the child to react. He bent his head down, catching the ocean blue eyes of the toddler.

Focused on the dragon’s face, the child pulled forward, scratching its chest on the claw, digging a thin shallow creek bed into brand new skin, blood welling to fill it. Instead of releasing the claw, the child, whimpering, studied its tip.

“Ow. Ow. No. Mama!”

The metallic smell of blood filled the olive-sized nostrils of the dragon, who came in close and opened his mouth. The child could smell its breath, the smell of earth and bone. His tongue, the size of the child’s arm, coated the wound with saliva.

The child examined its wet belly, and the dragon examined the child’s body.

“What inane reason do the villagers have for choossing you? Is it a missing toe, mayhap? Not intelligence; I can see it in your eyes.”

Like caramel poured over gravel, the dragon’s voice entranced the child, stilling busy limbs. The dragon’s eyelids dropped half mast when he located what made this child special. “Ahh. Interesting. A rarity indeed.” He pondered the genital deformity, wondering how much the child had suffered at the hand of xes kind, wondering if the parents properly cared for xem or were too scared to try.

The dragon saw no marks of ill will. Xes wispy light brown hair was combed out of xes eyes. All twenty nails were clean of dirt and grime. The child reached back out towards xes new charge, putting a finger into the sizable nostril hole of the dragon. The dragon reared back, hiccuped, and sneezed.

The babe let fly a litany of giggles, awakening the voices of all the birds in attendance of this meeting; in tandem they laughed and laughed at the dragon’s involuntary comedy. As the mirthful echoes lengthened and quieted to nothing, the dragon approached again, emanating warmth and welcome.

“It is time, little one.”

The dragon gently brought xem down to the forest floor, where a prickly path eked out existence. Several voles arose from below, sawing vines between their teeth, while other forest animals lifted and shifted this and that, making way for light cherubic steps. The dragon went first, slowing, sending out a thought, a desire towards the child behind him.

“_Will it catch_?” he wondered. It doesn’t always.

Yes. The child reached out and grabbed the tip of his tail, where the bone diminished to the size of a human finger, and the scales thinned to nails.

Xe trailed xes freshly stamped finger pads along the mature ferns and moss covered stone. The dragon led xem slowly into the darkness of thick greenery, calming xem with his rich voice.

“Long ago, your town ssuffered multiple attacks from neighboring peoples. I’ve always lived here, in this thicker wood where humans need not travel. I don’t often venture out, but I saw, I saw their suffering. I pity them, even now, eking out a life, pleading with the land, ‘give us sustenance!’ and with each other ‘sustain me!’ so simple, that life. I felt though, potential. In humanity. Shortly after a raid, I approached your ancestors. Four generations ago now, yess. I offered protection for an offering in return. A human offering. They agreed. I never corrected their misconception. I do not eat human flesh. The meat holds less nutrition than my preferred cattle and flock. I do not plan to eat you, child. I plan to raise you.”

As he said this last part, the dragon passed through into a less forested area, full of edifices built along massive tree trunks like sinew and muscle. Healthy individuals of varying ages stood about, completing tasks, preparing food, sweeping walkways, reading. The path connected to a network branching out like veins among the trees, and traveling up on the stronger branches, to houses in the air.

This was a people of the wood.

The dragon bent his neck down beside the naked child, whose eyes drooped in fatigue and hunger.

“You are home. We will raise you, and I will teach you many things so that one day, you make this world a better place. And I will be at your side, as I am now, for we are connected, dear one.”

Several teenagers approached, one with little booties tied at the laces, strung over the stump of an arm, another cupping a mug of warm goat milk. A woman moved through them, also approaching the child. She brought her cheek to xes, breathing in the scent, then studied the contours of xes face with her fingers, all while others attended to the child. Many stood in the peripherals, facilitating the administrations or just watching. Once the child was cheered with milk and comforted by soft fabrics, the woman picked xem up.

“Welcome to Haven. We are the People of the Dragon. Throughout this place, you will see feats of true genius. Our society is carved out of the forest, maintaining its harmony for all to benefit. Our water systems manipulate gravity, our crops steal sunlight, and our architecture recapitulates the natural paths of a tree branch. But all that can wait, little one. Today is your name day.”

She carried him deeper in, where branches shaped massive clearings that held busy areas of commerce or service. Up ahead was a hot spring fashioned into an ornamental well and fountain. This is where she stopped, and stepped up onto a flat rock next to it. She placed one hand on the scales of the dragon’s shoulder, the other hand steadying the child atop her hip.

“This is Zeppelin,” the blind woman projected, her voice cupping around the rounded branchy edges of their world. “One day xe will forge a path between Dragons and Humanity, so that we can join the rest of humankind to teach them the way.”

A single cheer rang out, joined quickly and heartily by all there. The dragon unfolded his slick, thin, rubbery wings, beating them, filling the space with wind. Zeppelin laughed and clapped, with not even a hint of fear.

Thus concludes the origin story of Zeppelin, Fiftieth child of the Dragon, Reformer of humankind.