Notes: “Vengeance” was a short, fiction essay written in three parts for my Honors English class. It started with going to the Creation Museum in Kentucky (Go. Sometime soon. Amazing.) and watching their little video clip on dinosaurs vs. dragons. While I don’t agree with their premise that dragons are just another breed of dinosaurs (all the legends seem a bit too specific for that one), I do believe that they once existed at some time. Every culture on the globe has some kind of dragon legend, and the discrepancies can easily be explained by different species within the overall umbrella of “dragon”.
*ahem* anyway. The story about St. George got me fired up again, because I’ve always thought he was a huge jerk, and here we are. Please note that I wrote the story about George of Cappadocia, not the English George. Legend has it that after he slayed the dragon, the town was razed to the ground and never seen again. Hmm…
So here we have the legend of St. George and the dragon, from another point of view. What if the story didn’t end that day?
*****
Vengeance
Part Two: Wisdom
As the sun filtered in through the trees, I lifted my head and gazed over the landscape. My peaceful river flowed lazily, twisting and winding its way down from the mountains towards the sea. Its path was dotted with small hills, lush trees, and the occasional human settlement, which varied from fishing villages to elaborate temples. Small carp with glittering scales swam by, nibbling the plants surrounding my claws and belly.
I rose languidly, letting water stream off me as I climbed out of the water and onto the riverbank. I shook out my indigo mane, coiled my sinuous body on the bank, and sat patiently. There was no hurry or urgency for me to go anywhere. My sole responsibility was to care for the river and the land surrounding it.
Something glinted inthe distance, and I swiveled to look. A bright gold speck, visible in the northwest, was rapidly growing larger. After a few moments, I could discern the shape of a gilded Western dragon swiftly winging her way towards me. She landed, furling her wings against her scaled sides, and proudly lifted her head to greet me.
“I am Wirenth,” she said in our tongue, “daughter of Freith. I come from the west searching for information.”
I dipped my head in acknowledgement. “Welcome, Wirenth. I am Ryuusei. What information do you need?”
She sat on her haunches, tail curled around her paws. “My mother is dead,” she said bluntly, with more than a hint of bitterness. “She was killed twelve years ago – by a human. A Cappadocian knight named George.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
A flick of one talon dismissed my concern. “I’ve been asking others. They said you know where I can find him.”
“Perhaps.”
Her nostrils flared, sending out a puff of smoke. “Ryuusei. This man left me orphaned and alone. He has spent most of his life decimating our species. Once the Western dragons were as numerous as your kind; now there are only a handful of us left. Then he abruptly vanished several years ago. I have sought redress against him for most of my life. Do not deny me this information.”
“Information? Wirenth, there is a great difference between knowledge and wisdom. I can give you knowledge – information – but wisdom cannot be transferred. It comes differently to each of us.”
“And your point is?”
Exhaling in frustration, I tried to control my temper at her rash attitude. “Is revenge truly the wisest course here? Yes, you may kill a bloodthirsty knight – to what end? What will you gain from this, other than satisfaction? Violence begets violence, and it will not end with the death of one human.”
Her lip curled in disdain, which wrinkled her muzzle. “Don’t you think he deserves death, after the atrocities he has committed?”
“Perhaps,” I admitted reluctantly, “but Wirenth, consider the situation from his point of view for a moment.”
“Why?”
“Humor me. You have been hunting this knight for over a decade now, correct? We can assume he knows about you, since he has secluded himself so well. Now, imagine that you are in his position. A powerful creature that hates you and yearns for your death is hunting you, day and night, without mercy and without ceasing. How would you feel?”
There was silence for a long moment as she lowered his gaze. “I… would feel terrified,” she confessed. “I would be hurt and scared… and feel very alone.” Then her eyes snapped up to mine, blazing with sapphire fury. “And he should. He has every right to be afraid of me, because I will not stop hunting him until he has answered for his treachery. Now tell me where he makes his dwelling, so I may end this quest.”
I gazed at her sadly, recognizing the pain beyond the maelstrom of bitterness and rage. “Wirenth, I understand your anger at the injustice he has dealt you. But I cannot simply turn this man over to you so you can kill him; that would also be unjust. I am sorry.”
She abruptly came to her feet and snarled at me with her crest flared and her wings half-open. “How dare you?!” she bellowed as flames licked at her ivory fangs. “What do you know about injustice? You sit here in peace with your river, worshiped as a god, while humans kowtow and grovel before you. And you fear to lose that, so you seclude yourself from the troubles of others. You deny me not out of a sense of justice, but of cowardice!”
I roared angrily and reared to my full impressive height, mane bristling. The river behind us suddenly surged to flood stage in response to my rage. “Be silent, child,” I hissed, the tendrils around my jaw lashing. “True, I have not had your experiences; yet I am old enough to know not to let my emotions dictate my actions. Revenge is like a cracked eggshell – hollow and empty. It may seem strong, but it is really fragile, and it will eventually shatter and leave you with nothing. And when that happens, what will you do? Grief and rage are strong, yes; but if you live by them alone, they will consume you as swiftly and completely as dragonfire.”
Suddenly weary, I dropped back to all fours. “The one you seek lives in the mountains the humans call the Alps. I will tell you nothing more.”
She dipped her head ever so slightly, still trembling with suppressed emotion. Then she crouched, snapped her wings open, and flung herself skyward, rear claws gouging the earth. In the span of a few seconds she was no more than a dwindling smudge; and I, being wingless, could not follow, but only watch her go and hope she would find peace. Then I turned back to the river and began to repair the damage it had done.
That child, I thought, may destroy more than a village with her anger. If she is not careful, she may bring herself to disaster as well.
