Dragon's Mount

Padma's cottage nestled in the verdant saddle between Kishar Peak and Nyana Escarpment. To greet this day as she did most others, Padma left her sleeping lover to steal outside and into the ancient redwoods that dominated the landscape. From above her, Kishar exhaled, carrying air tempered by Padma's herb gardens along with heady conifer resins. After stretching and making her abeyance to mountain, sky and earth, she perched comfortably in a tree's crotch. Mellifluous cries of neenie birds welcomed her. Fibrous bark had accumulated in this, her favorite seat. Shredded by tree dwellers, the natural cushion reminded her of gorilla hair. Mt. Kishar easily supported such unlikely and extravagant diversity.

Padma stretched again, then poured a measure of her breakfast mead onto clover shaped sorrel scattered among the tree's knees. Slanted rays of apricot sunlight barely warmed her, yet her shiver came from another source. Her gaze ranged to the valley below, where autumn leaves colored the canopy in reds shading to gold.

Valley dwellers, and those beyond, named Padma's residence World's Edge. Tales of sleeping dragons and other fantastical creatures abounded in their fireside stories. Yet those in need of Padma's blessing braved their storied fears to trek the distance to her. Courage firmly in hand, they left with herbal remedies and perhaps a seer's ramblings. A few chosen ones stayed longer. However, on this particular morning, after a night of love, no one demanded more from her than she was willing to give. Only the expected, and unwelcome, movement in the valley spoiled her repose. She chose to leave the way open to the incursion. This promised to be a trying day after all.

From above and behind her roost, her longtime lover kicked bark and needles as he descended to her roost. His loose-limbed gait spoke of satiety and slow awakenings. Propping himself across from her with his back supported by corrugated bark, he gave her a long and heated perusal. Then he handed her a hard roll with yellow cheese along with a ripe pear from her larder. After pushing back her unmanageable tresses and kissing her cold nose, he moved to her much warmer lips. She offered her goblet of honeywine.

"Must you desert me? It's cold abed without you." He pulled his outer furs closer and sipped.

She shrugged, then bit into the pear. "Morning calls. What would you have me do?"

"Stay in bed." The skin around his eyes crinkled with humor as she nestled her bare feet into his midriff.

Whinnies from below sounded closer, lifting on the lucid air in a peculiar clarity. Shod hooves on rock rang with a metallic clatter. These were no native beasts. The smile leached from his face. His poet's gaze sharpened. "He comes after all. I'd hoped we might..."

She sighed and withdrew her toes from his warm center. Pushing away from the trunk, Padma landed with feline economy on the pine needle and sorrel carpet. Her belted robe encased her, falling around her toes. "You must choose."

"Me? I know my own mind. This choice falls to you, love." He moved to her side.

Her gaze took in his much-loved features and tousled hair. Nearly of a height, their shoulders touched. "I desire to continue as we have thus far. Marriage is not an option."

Tension flexed his jaw and long fingers curled. "I am a prince of the realm. As such, I must produce an heir."

"Then produce one. We love. That is more than most have."

His gaze softened. "Yes, but for me to keep you as my only love, we must wed."

Her gaze moved across the valley, where light glinted through the leaves and off the armor of his father's oncoming entourage. "I cannot."

"Cannot? Or will not?"

She shrugged and held her silence. A puff of air from Kishar's Peak agitated her trailing robe as a column of knights broke free of the mixed forest. Far below, the golden canopy whispered of deep snows to come. Even from here, her senses picked up the rustle of discarded foliage and scents of leaf mold. Turning, she asked, "You would attempt to force my hand?"

He grasped her shoulders, then pulled her into his embrace. Nuzzling an ear, he whispered, "Not I, but my father, the king."

Padma squeezed her eyes shut against a hot wash. Inhaling his scent, she whispered, "Then, in fact, you must choose. With whom do you stand? Me--or your father?"

At any other time, his look of astonishment would have made her laugh. Not so today. "He is my father."

"Where does that leave us?" At his ruptured expression, she again peered at the scene unfolding below. The king's honor guard, knights fit for both exhibition and combat, rode onward. However, the pikes and foot soldiers behind them gave her pause. This overwhelming show of force displayed an intent to coerce. The king obviously misjudged what he faced. She considered a fog of confusion or trees that closed the way. She deemed it too late for either, though.

Setting her shoulders, Padma breathed in the invigorating scents of her haven, then turned to face her lover--one last time. "Choose."

"Padma, I love you! You know this to be true. But he is my father..."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Then you must go to him."

He shook his head in disbelief before firming his jaw. "Why are you so adamant? Would wedding me be so horrible?"

She dipped her head, refusing to meet his gaze. "I will not marry you--or any other. My existence is here." A warmer breeze lifted her hair, reminding her of deep earth and molten metals.

With a cry somewhere between child and raven, he turned away. The neenie birds lifted from the trees. A fall of needles accompanied their exodus. The thud of a destrier's hooves matched the pace of her heart as her lover departed. Shoulders slumping, she undid her tie and let her loosened robe settle in sky blue waves about her feet. Raising her head, she viewed the world through the gilded auburn of her hair. Then she pressed her feet earthward, rooting deep within her sanctuary. Sky clad, she awaited what came.

In that drift of eternity between what is and what comes, Padma delighted in the ancient dreams of redwoods. She spilled over rocks rounded by eons of water, then immersed herself in dens of wolves, bears, and gryphons. An infinity of realities filled her until the alien metallic tickle engaged her again.

The king cut a fine figure, although his rigid nature showed in facial lines, sharpness of gaze and hand heavy upon the reins. Perhaps acceding to his son's privacy, he kept his regard on her face rather than acknowledging her nudity. She nodded to him, then looked to her lover. "You have told him of my wishes."

"Of course."

His wretched expression set her resolve as she turned her attention to the father. "And yet, you come. Do you really believe threats or even weaponry will change my mind?"

The king's restive stallion half-rose onto his hindquarters, only to be curbed by cruel bit and harsh seat. "This serves as a show of respect, Lady. Nothing more."

"Even if I tell you I refuse your son's suit?"

"He must wed and provide our lands with an heir."

She shrugged. "I do not stop him."

Irritation crossed the king's face. "He will not wed anyone but you."

"Ah, there lies the crux. For I will not marry. Furthermore, any child made by our union stays with me."

Unclenching his jaw to speak, the king said, "I take it other blandishments will hold no sway, either."

Her heart stuttered as she shook her head. "How could it, when love does not?"

"Well, then. That leaves only force. I would we had another way. Once you come to our lands, I'm sure you will awaken to the possibilities. We are known for our refinements along with the beauty of our domain and vigorous trade."

Curling her toes deeper into the soil, she said, "I will not go with you. It would be best if you leave now."

He looked at his son and shook his head. "I did not believe you, but see you spoke only truth. Is she truly the only one you will have?"

"She is my heart."

"Well, then." The king nodded to his commander, who in turn signaled the troops. They urged their horses toward her.

Holding her hands up to stop them, she cried, "I warn you but once more. Leave me to my mountains."

The men halted, looking again to their king for direction. With a steely look, he ordered, "Take her now."

Padma raised her arms and called, "Guardian Kishar, entity of this forest and those whom he defends--first and most beloved. Arise. Join with me to meet these forces seeking to divide the land from its essence."

With an inhalation of sulfur and molten heat, Kishar responded. As he always had, and always would, Kishar arose to protect land and goddess, who were in fact one and the same. The ridge behind her lifted, reforming into what myth and lowlanders named 'dragon'. Her gaze lowered to link again with her lover's. His disbelief changed to terror. Still, she held the way open for those who chose to live another day. Many did not. Warhorses bucked and screamed their distress, leaving many of their riders in the volcanic soil to be churned into blood and chips of bone. The lucky ones escaped the first blast even as Padma held a barrier of cool air around her lover.

Not so the others who encroached upon her divinity. They burned. The onslaught of dragon fire was merciful and their screams died away quickly. She maintained eye contact with her lover as those around him expired. She allowed herself only this outlet for her empathy and grief. Thus the morning passed. Finally, when all wrongdoing had been scoured from this sacred place and the air cooled to an acceptable level around her lover, she released her shield.

Kishar landed, then dipped his head in abeyance. She stroked his oddly silken muzzle. "Go with joy, most beloved. Fly this day until the setting sun requires your return."

With a bound that shook earth and trees, Kishar took flight. Crying his joy, he arrowed toward the sun. Padma watched until even with her long sight, he presented no more than a tiny dot of movement. Then her gaze returned to her former lover.

The scorched zone around him left him dazed. No words shaped his confusion--or horror. Clothed again in her robe, Padma made her way to him. Her bare feet tread what was left of his father and his father's useless forces. Only cooling ashes remained.

Standing at his stirrup, she smelled the fear sweat of both sidling horse and rider. The man's white-rimmed gaze barely recognized her and she wept as she placed a hand over his at the pommel. "You must go now and never return. Stay on the downward path. The return way is blocked to you. Tell any who ask about this place that a goddess and her guardian abide here. Only those free of malice and greed may approach."

In his eyes, she read denial. "You made your choice. Go before sunset, when Kishar returns. Go."

To make his an easier choice, she turned away and walked back to her cottage. Padma knew when he finally turned his horse away. Tears running down her face, she opened a corridor for his swift departure, then closed the egress behind him.

At sunset, Kishar returned. In his original form, he stood in the doorway to her kitchen. Tall and altogether beautiful, he awaited her invitation. She met him there. Brushing night-dark hair from his face, she kissed his lips, then trailed her hands down his arms to intertwine their fingers.

"Come, most beloved. We have until the sun's rise to reacquaint ourselves with each other. Make haste so that we lose not one moment more."

Padma left the cottage doors and windows open. Nothing unfamiliar marred the intimacy of her mountains.