Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology (34 page)

“The age of dragons is upon us.”

About Diane Dubas

Diane Dubas is a fiction writer living in Ontario, Canada. She has attended the Humber School for Writers and her work has been published in
Inaccurate Realities
and
Saturday Night Reader
.

Dragon's Oath

by Danny Mitchell

“Rashida, have you spotted any yet?”

“Not yet, Dad,” Rashida called back from the perch at the top of their house. “You asking me every few minutes won't make a dragon magically appear, you know.”

“I know …”

Rashida sighed. Annoying as he'd been about dragon-watching, she understood why her father was so anxious. The village had just taken in several Wanderers looking to start their own families, and as accommodating as the innkeeper was, they couldn't stay there forever. She could see the new, half-built houses on the edge of the village, just near the bee yards and fields, their walls completed but the frame for their roofs standing wide open. They stood out against the other houses, a jarring brown against the harsh black of the dragon scales and the bright green of the solar tree in the middle of the village. Rashida's father, Bassam, had even gotten the molten salt batteries ready for them to store power over the nights and darker days, and all they needed were enough dragon scales to install on the roofs.

But to get dragon scales, you needed dragons.

She put the binoculars up to her brown eyes and scanned the horizon again. They used to get four or five dragons a week coming through; massive, majestic beasts flying over the village or basking on the plains nearby, grooming themselves and shedding loose scales in the process. Bassam knew how to treat and craft the scales to make them into devices that could harness the sun to power buildings and devices, in much the same way that the scales helped give the dragons strength and energy. The black scales were the main ones they got, but occasionally a dragon would shed one of its coveted green scales, which could not only draw energy from the sun, but also worked like plant leaves and provided food; incorporated into a solar tree, the green scales could provide power and sugary water, which was a boon for hungry villagers and bees alike.

She smiled when she thought back to her last birthday, where the whole village got to see a dragon migration. There had been hundreds of the creatures flying overhead, most of them big enough to crush houses, their black and green scales glinting in the sunlight as they weaved around each other. Rashida remembered spotting a large dragon with three smaller ones balanced on its back, peering over the edge of their parent before swooping over her. They were still young enough to be covered in fuzzy green down and their wings were leathery and had no scales yet, but they made a good show of flying around before one of the more mature dragons scooped them up and brought them back to the parent they'd launched off.

Now that she thought on it, that migration was the last time they'd all seen dragons. Since then, it had barely been one dragon every few weeks, and they weren't dropping as many scales as they used to. Most of them weren't even stopping on the plains, instead staying closer to the eucalypt woods to the north of the village.

Rashida scanned the horizon again and spotted a flicker of motion in the distance. She focused her binoculars onto it, and smiled when she saw the familiar silhouette on the sky.

“Dad! Dragon! I can see a dragon over the woods!”

Seconds later, Bassam barged into the lookout. He was a huge slab of a man and Rashida was round herself, so the end result was Rashida being squashed against the wall and almost elbowed in the face. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Rashida passed Bassam the binoculars and pointed over the woods. “I'm sure, Dad—look!” she replied as she readjusted her hijab and tucked a few errant locks of black hair back into place.

Bassam's expression lit up like the village paths at night. “Fantastic! Keep me updated on its movements while we get ready! ENG—WARM THE ORNITHOPTER UP!” Bassam bellowed to his apprentice downstairs, and he vanished down the ladder as rapidly as he'd appeared.

Rashida smiled as she trained the binoculars back onto the dragon, but the smile didn't stay for very long. The dragon wasn't moving as quickly as she was used to seeing, and she initially thought it was just searching for somewhere to land. Once it got closer to the village, she realised it wasn't okay; its wings were flapping asynchronously, liquid was dripping from its back and sides, and it looked like it was taking too much effort for it to stay in the air.

“Dad, it's hurt!” Rashida called, not taking her sight off the dragon.

“ENG, GET THE MEDICINES!” Bassam bellowed.

“But you
just
told me to warm the 'thopter up!” another, higher-pitched voice complained.

“I DID TOO, SORRY! I'LL GET THEM.”

Rashida watched as the dragon kept struggling against gravity before its wings finally flopped down and it crashed to the ground, landing somewhere in the forest. Even though it was too far for the sound to travel, she imagined the loud
thump
the creature would have made on impact.

“It's down! It's crashed!” Rashida called as she climbed down the ladder into the workshop.

The workshop was brightly lit with the afternoon sun streaming through the north-facing glass wall, and was currently in chaotic disarray rather than its usual precise neatness. Bassam hastily filled bags of tools from the shelves and tool boards on the walls, with more than a few falling onto the floor. He'd also knocked over a few bottles of treatment chemicals, spilling their acrid contents. Bassam was trying to clean the mess with a rag while loading the bag of tools, succeeding only in making both processes take longer. She could hear the low whine of the very old ornithopter warming up outside, accompanied by frantic cursing and invective in Mandarin.

“Crashed? That's … Rashida, take the bike, the portable kit, and a signal flare and get to it. See if there's anything you can do to get it back in the air. We'll follow along once the 'thopter decides to warm up and get flying,” Bassam told her as he cleaned up the last of the chemical spill and idly tossed the rag into a corner.

Rashida didn't need to be told twice, and was already putting on a heavy apron with several pockets filled with medical supplies specifically for treating injured dragons. At least, that's what the book in the apron pocket had told her; she'd never had the chance to actually try the kit out. “I'll see you both there, Dad!” she called as she grabbed a hanging satchel stuffed full of more supplies and dashed out the door.

There were already a couple of people clustered around their house wondering what was happening when Rashida charged out, almost bowling one over. “Hey, what's going on?” one asked as she took the goggles and helmet off the bike and put them on.

“Dragon! No time!” Rashida called back as she got onto the bike and started it up. The vehicle hummed to life as the solar batteries kicked in, and the people just managed to clear a path for her before Rashida took off.

* * *

She rode through the village, barely giving people enough time to dodge. She breezed past the public food garden and community kitchen; past the bee yards and their workers creating honey, comb, and wax; the solar tree; and through the marketplace, almost taking out a stall cart of jewellery on her way. She yelled an apology to the cart owner but she wasn't sure it was heard over the commotion and humming of the bike. She figured Amelia would be waiting for her when she got back, her hands clenched into fists and her eye twitching the whole time, but Rashida didn't care right now; she had to find that dragon.

The bike hummed louder as she left the outskirts of the village, past the north fields and towards the wood. The tires tore along the plains, dry grass crunching under the wheels and dirt puffing up behind her as she put on more speed.

She had to slow down once she got to the eucalypts. Not only did the trees grow close together and make manoeuvring difficult, there was almost always a mass of dead leaves and branches underfoot, reducing traction and making the whole place hazardous for anyone moving through it faster than a slow walk. The air was thick with the scent of eucalyptus oil evaporating in the summer heat, and the whole forest was one errant spark away from becoming a massive inferno. She carefully moved through the trees, hoping she remembered which way she was going and silently praying to Allah that the dragon was going to be all right.

Rashida skidded to a stop when she saw a newly downed tree blocking her path, one side of its trunk covered in a glistening, silvery-green ichor. She cut the engine and took her helmet and goggles off, leaning the bike against a nearby upright tree. Once she was sure the bike wouldn't fall over, she carefully moved around the trunk, past the thick mass of roots dangling from it, and peered into the clearing.

She gasped when she saw the dragon.

The enormous beast had belly-flopped onto the ground. It had taken out several trees in its landing, coating some of them and the ground under it in the same silvery-green ichor Rashida saw on everything. One tree had survived the impact somehow, and had impaled the dragon through what Rashida thought was its pelvis. One wing jutted out at a crude angle, while the other flopped limply on the ground, the support bones visibly shattered. She saw several black scales scattered across the ground from the limp wing, with a couple stuck deep into the downed tree trunk. The creature's back was a ragged mess of scales and ichor and its sides had been torn open by something, spilling more ichor onto the ground. She could hear it breathing heavily, every breath accompanied by a thick, gurgling wheeze. The dragon's head lay near her, its remaining silver eye unfocused, its long neck bent and lacerated, its whiskers twisted and split.

Rashida started crying as she moved into the clearing. “It's not fair,” she whispered. The first dragon she'd seen in weeks, and it was wounded well beyond anyone's skill to save, let alone hers.

The dragon's head shifted, accompanied by a painful grunt, and Rashida found herself face to face with a dying dragon. Its eye was the size of her head and staring at her, trying to say something she couldn't understand. She could feel its hot breath blowing on her, the sweet stench of dragon ichor filling her nostrils. Even beaten and bloodied as it was, Rashida was awed by the size and power of the creature before her. She nervously reached out a hand to stroke it, and the dragon shifted its head slightly to reach her. Its face was softer than she'd expected it to be, much warmer than her, and there was a fuzzy ridge of what felt like moss running from the tip of its nose to past the top of its head. The dragon made a low, rhythmic rumbling noise as she touched it, like a cat purring—only much louder. She gently stroked the parts of the dragon's head she could reach with one hand, wiping tears with the other. “I'm so sorry. I … I wish I could do something …”

A shrill call came from somewhere along the dragon's body, audible over the purring. A baby dragon struggled out of a pouch in the dragon's belly and through a curtain of ichor, before climbing up the dragon's body and dashing along its back and neck towards Rashida. It was the size of a small cat, covered in bright green puffed-up fuzz that looked like moss. It stretched its leathery, scaleless wings and opened its mouth wide, displaying serrated fangs. It took a deep breath and let out a squeaky roar, accompanied by a tiny spark of electricity that flickered out of existence as soon as it appeared. It stalked closer to Rashida's hand, snarling and hissing and showing as much aggression as its tiny form could manage.

Rashida tried to pull her hand away, but the dragon's whiskers wrapped around her wrist and held her gently but firmly. It started purring again, loud enough to drown out the baby's noise. The baby stopped hissing and folded its wings back, cocking its head to one side. It padded to the tip of its parent's face, close enough to have the whiskers holding Rashida's hand wrap around it as well. They were soft and supple, and caressed Rashida's hand rather than binding it in place. The baby cooed and started purring, nuzzling into the touch of its parent.

The dragon's whiskers took hold of Rashida's hand and the baby dragon, and guided them towards each other until she could feel the baby's downy fuzz. She had no idea what the dragon was doing until she met its gaze. She'd never interacted with a dragon before, but even she could tell it was expecting something from her.

She looked at the dragon's eye, then back at the baby dragon. The baby looked up at Rashida and back at its parent, apparently listening to something before turning its own golden gaze onto Rashida.

“Why are you …” was as far as Rashida got before the whiskers started glowing red. Rashida felt a wave of warmth rush through her arm and up to her head, bringing with it a cascade of emotions. Pain. Fear. Sadness. Regret. Hope. Desperation.

“What … what happened to you?” Rashida asked, unsure how the dragon was pushing emotions into her like that. Her query was met with an overwhelming barrage of pain and fear that made her fall to her knees. It was quickly followed by a feeling of regret, and hope again.

“I don't understand. What are you asking me?” Rashida gasped as she recovered from the emotional onslaught.

Different emotions flowed through the whiskers to her arm and head. The love of a parent to their child. The desire to protect. Trust. Hope once again.

Rashida looked back at the dragon, then to the baby. It was looking at her with bright gold eyes, pleading almost as much as the dying dragon. “But why me? I don't know how to care for a dragon!”

Curiosity. Trust. Compassion. Empathy.

“All … all right. I will. I'll do my best. I promise, to Allah and to you both,” Rashida swore through fresh tears. She had no idea where to even start raising a dragon, but this baby needed help and she was at least in something of a position to give it. What else could she do?

Relief. Gratitude. The sadness of goodbye.

The dragon unwrapped its whiskers from them both and released one long breath before its purring stopped and it became still. Its body relaxed, its whiskers flopping to the ground, and the clearing became still and silent for a moment.