Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology (7 page)

The sound of gravel crunching drew me out of the moment. The dragon lifted its head, and I turned, both of us instantly locating the source of the noise. Cait's slight form stood at the entrance to the building, her face reticent. She was holding one of her arms with the other, hugging herself. I wanted to tell her it was safe, that at least I thought it was, but a determined expression crossed her brow, and she came towards us in rapid, rigid strides. She slowed down when she got closer, probably a little bit taken aback by the sheer size of the dragon, but after one look at me she finally took the last steps.
 

“It's … really warm. It's like feeling the sun again.” My voice came out thin and hoarse, and I almost jumped, surprised to hear it myself. Cait didn't comment, but her eyes opened with curiosity, and she extended a slightly trembling hand to the dragon, looking at me like she was awaiting approval.

“Go ahead. I think … they like it.”

She did, and her face lit up when her skin made contact with the scales. She turned to me, her excitement equal to a child's.
 

“It does! It does feel like the sun. Oh, Romy, it does!” She grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. Bewildered for a moment, I joined in stroking the dragon while Cait squeezed my hand.

I don't know how long we stood like this, holding hands, rediscovering the sun on the surface of the dragon's skin, but when I looked up, others had joined us on the ground. A few of them were tentatively imitating Cait and I. Shaking at first, and then with eyes filled with delight. People barely exchanged words, groups of them huddling around dragons, communicating mainly by touch and exchanged looks. Sometimes, a series of coughs broke the silence, a grim reminder of our current predicament, but already, it didn't tear at my heart like it used to.
 

After a while, our dragon sniffed Cait and I, stretched its neck towards the sky, looked at us, and then took off, almost knocking us over with a warm gust of wind. Soon, the others followed suit, with one last nudge or sniff at the humans marveling at them. I tracked the one we had been caressing as it soared to the sky, higher than they usually seemed to circle. It went on, then broke through the layer of black clouds and disappeared. The other dragons, big and small, went the same way. All around me I heard sighs. My heart sank as low as it had been before.
 

But then, as quickly as it had vanished, our dragon came out of the clouds, dark smoke clinging to its wings. Then the dragon flipped on its side and started describing circles, half hidden in the layer of soot and gas. The others joined in, flapping their wings in short, methodical bursts, understanding its intent without the need of communication. Or maybe they have ways to communicate that are not apparent to us. I, too, understood its intent, not through some kind of wordless message. My imagination often takes me down some dark paths, but this time it was leading me to the path of hope. I prayed I was right in my hypothesis, and watched, nervous. There was a painful twist in my belly. I was afraid to be disappointed one final time. Cait squeezed my hand again, seemingly picking up on my fear.
 

The effects of their swirling and flapping started to appear to us all, and I was comforted in my painful hopes. The clouds … they were dissipating! They were still there, thick and heavy, but light dimly pierced through them, as if too shy to show its face so quick.
 

Joyful shouts burst from around us. Cait held my hand tighter. She was crying when I turned to look at her. The lower half of her face was all smile. Everyone still inside flooded the streets and courtyards. We stood in silent, awe-stricken groups, heads turned to the sky as the dragons slowly cleared away the oppressive volcanic clouds.
 

I stayed on my balcony all night, Cait sitting with me on the floor. She laid her head on my shoulder and held my hand. I'm writing this now while she sleeps. I can see the sun far on the horizon, about to rise. It's still dim, the dark curtain not completely eradicated, but already the air feels clearer, and I can hear the hum of our panels waking up. Things might not be easy, not for a long while. But I can feel something coming back to me. The ability to hope, the desire to look ahead. It can't quell all my fears, but it can keep the balance.
 

I can be like the sun. A little brighter, one day at a time, for as long as it takes me.
 

About Marianne L. D. Drolet

Marianne is a writer from Québec, Canada. She has always enjoyed fiction, and learned a lot from the comic books her dad would read her. She also drew a lot of dragons, and, according to family, they were masterpieces.

She owns a cat, named Mjölnir, or Mia Mia, but no dragon, for some reason. That cat is a cutie, though. In her spare time Marianne cuddles that cat, plays video games, makes terrible jokes, reads books and too many horror shorts.
 

Petrichor

by Megan Reynolds

Elena shut her eyes. The flower was just out of reach from this side of the wooden fence. There was no getting around it. She'd have to climb.

As she squeezed her feet between the slats and hauled herself up, she cursed her friends. Cal and Lara had done this on purpose, saying they didn't think she was brave enough.
 

“Yeah, right. Even
you
aren't reckless enough to go into the witch's garden and steal one of her flowers. Nobody's been in there since she came to town, for good reason.”

Well, she'd show them. Her grip began to slip, her right hand sliding down the dry wood and almost certainly embedding a half dozen splinters in her palm. No matter. She was so very close. Three, two, one—she heaved her torso over the top and swung her legs around, landing with a thump in the patchy grass.
 

Her hand stinging, Elena crouched close to the ground. Out at the edge of the farm, she couldn't imagine the witch would even notice her from the window of the house, but there was no harm in staying hidden.
 

Pale green and brown stalks surrounded her, and the ground was dotted with tiny spherical cacti. Taking care not to step on them, Elena crept towards the flower bush. Senna flowers were hard to grow, especially in a drought as endless as this one. She wondered if the magic that kept the flowers growing was the same that kept the rest of the town out of water.
 

No one else in town had a desert senna plant. No one but the witch. A single flower would be perfect proof of her nerve.

She stuck her hand into the mass of yellow petals, carefully grasped the base of a stem, and twisted. The witch would never notice one missing, and even if she did, who could say Elena had taken it? She tucked the flower into her shirt pocket.
 

As she started back up the fence, wincing at the pressure on her right palm, the wind picked up suddenly, hot and dry. Elena swung over the top. Once she'd landed, she shoved her hair out of her face and glanced behind her. Out over the dry hills, a large red form swooped and soared. The dragon.
 

Elena ducked instinctively. Maybe it hadn't seen her. There were rumors that the dragon could communicate with the witch. That's what a familiar did, right? Kept an eye on things for its witch. Well, if the dragon
had
seen her, she was colossally screwed. She whispered a quick prayer and jogged back towards the town center, the tips of the yellow petals peeking out of her pocket.
 

* * *

The senna flower had only lain on the windowsill in Elena's room for half an hour when her aunt Gabriela knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Even though her room was connected to the rest of the house, her aunt always made a point to treat it as Elena's own space. People didn't live alone anymore because it was so much more efficient to share housing, but it was nice to have some privacy.
 

Gabriela stepped into the room and sat down beside Elena on her bed. “What did you do with your evening?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she hedged. “I talked to Lara and Cal a bit. We went walking around the edge of town. The desert's so lovely at sunset.”

“That it is. What did you—” She broke off, having caught sight of the flower on the windowsill. “Elena,” she said warningly.

“Yes?” Elena felt her stomach drop the way it always did when someone was disappointed in her. It was especially hard to hear disappointment in Gabriela's voice, after all she'd done to make her aunt proud.

“Where'd you get that flower from?”

There was no point in lying. “From the witch's garden.”

“Did you steal it?” Her voice was hard.
 

“Yes. I mean, I just climbed the fence because Lara dared me, and the flower was proof, and I—” Elena stopped.
 

“Oh, El.” Gabriela put her hand to her forehead. “You've got to stop letting them goad you like this. You're not a teenager anymore.”

“It's just a flower,” Elena said. The words fell flat on her own ears.
 

“It's theft.”

“She'll never miss it!”

“You know that doesn't matter.” Gabriela's words were acid in Elena's stomach.

“I know, I know.”

After a few moments of silence, her aunt rose and picked up the flower, turning it over in her hands. She passed it to Elena. “What are you going to do about it?”

With a shrug, she said, “I'll go apologize, I guess.”
 

“Is that enough? You
did
climb her fence and pick her flower without permission,” she chided.

 
Elena let out a sigh. “I don't know, what do you want me to do?”

“I think you should offer to work for her. She might say no. But you should offer. Give something of your own time and energy in exchange for what you took.”

Knees to her chest, Elena nodded. It was the typical punishment for theft: to work for the person from whom one had stolen. Her pride bristled as she thought,
it's just a flower
. But the damage was done, and the code was clear.
 

“I'll go tomorrow morning.”

Her aunt nodded. “Good. Now come make the rice for dinner.”

Elena groaned internally. Her aunt wouldn't say another word about her disappointment. Still it coated Elena's skin like the dust when the rain refused to come. It would be days before she could wash it all off.

* * *

It was only an average door, Elena knew, but standing in front of it, it might as well be a hundred feet tall. Its dark wood stood out against the pale clay bricks that formed the walls. The flower drooped in her left hand, and she reached for the worn iron knocker with her right. Just before she seized it, the door opened.

The witch stood before her. She looked young, only a few years older than Elena and an equal number of inches taller. Her skin was light brown, a little paler than Elena's, and her dark curls were swept up into a clip like she'd been doing housework.

“Can I help you?”

Elena thrust out the hand containing the flower.
 

“Ah, it's you. I was wondering if you'd come by.” The witch smiled. “Come in, please.” She led the way down a well-lit hallway. Elena's shoes tapped on the ground as she entered the kitchen. A small wooden table with two chairs stood at the center of the room. At the witch's gesture, Elena sat.

“So you've come to return my flower.”

“Yes,” Elena said. “Well, sort of. I can't really return it, I suppose, seeing as it's dead now.”

The witch hummed in agreement.

“But I'd like to apologize. And,” she said, squirming in her chair, “offer to work for you.”

Her eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch, the only sign of a reaction. “Is that so? And what do you think you can do for me?”

Elena shrugged. “Help around the house, I guess. Or the garden. Or whatever you need. My aunt said I needed to offer.”

The witch nodded. “Not your idea, then? It's your aunt who insists you work for the woman whose flower you stole?” Her voice held a curious timbre, as though she were sizing Elena up.
 

“Yes. But it's only right.” Elena laid the flower on the table, her stomach turning at the look of the wilted petals. “I shouldn't have picked it at all, and I certainly shouldn't have stolen it. I'd like to bring some life back to your garden, if I can.”

At one corner of the witch's mouth, her lips turned up slightly. Elena took it as a good sign and continued.

“I usually work for my aunt. She's a metalworker and she took me on three years ago as her apprentice. But she said this was more important, so I'm free from my duties and can start at the beginning of the week, if you'd like.”

Another slow nod. “You seem to have thought this through.”

“It's up to you, of course.”
 

“Well, I could use some help, that's for sure. Especially with this drought, it's hard to keep the whole garden alive and thriving.” She smiled. Elena cringed at the mention of the drought, but the witch went on. “The beginning of the week would be good. It's a bit of a walk from where you live, isn't it?”

“A bit.” Elena paused. “More than a bit. Maybe an hour's walk.”

“If you'd like, you can stay here during the week while you're working for me. I've got plenty of room.”

A look of hesitation passed over the witch's face, as though she thought Elena would say no. As though she didn't want her to say no.

“That would be great,” Elena said, smiling for the first time since she'd knocked on the door. “Thank you.”

The witch's face relaxed into a similar smile. “My pleasure. I'll walk you out.”

 
As the heavy door swung open and Elena crossed the threshold, the witch said, “I'll see you in a few days. Thank you for coming, Elena.”

“You know my name?” She turned around in surprise.

“Of course I do.”

“I don't know yours,” Elena said.

“Oh,” the witch said, blinking. “It's Anabel.”

“Anabel.” She nodded and walked down the dirt path, edged with spiky succulents, a smile spreading across her face. Her friends would never believe she was working for the witch. For Anabel.