The Influx

There weren't always dragons in the valley. In fact, up until two years ago, there hadn't been any dragons anywhere. Or firebirds. Or unicorns. Or any of the myriad of fantasy creatures that had once been relegated to the realms of… well, fantasy.

It happened at quarter past noon, on the second Tuesday in May. I remember the time specifically because I was running late, again, on this occasion to a doctor's appointment. The rapidly gathering clouds threatened rain and my umbrella was nowhere to be found. Hurrying to the door, I glanced at my watch, tripped over my feet, and flew across the room.

And I mean flew, as though gravity no longer applied to me.

Several things went through my mind before I touched down: the first was relief that I hadn’t fallen on my face. The second was shock that I was still in motion. The third was the realization that it would not be a graceful landing.

Between the trajectory and the momentum, I flew over the back of the couch clipping it with my knee and tumbled to a stop in front of the balcony doors. Rolling onto my side, I sat up wincing as my body protested the impact it had suddenly and inexplicably endured. At this point I probably should have paused and tried to figure out if I’d just experienced something or was simply losing my mind.

And if the sky had not burst into a stunning display of shimmering, pearlescent lightning, crackling through the air and popping mythical creatures into being, I would have done so.

It was so bright at first I had to shut my eyes, wishing, not for the first time, that I hadn't mislaid my sunglasses. A clap of thunder shook the building, followed by a whoosh of crackling air, and a blue-green scaled mass shimmered onto my balcony. Startled, I pushed myself away from the open doors, scrambling backwards against the couch. I squinted and tried to see what it was. Between all the flashing and noise, it was hard to make out. But as the light show subsided, I could tell it was alive and very, very big.

It moved.

I screamed.

And pushed myself up to stand so quickly, that I flew into the air high enough to hit my head on the ceiling. I yelped in pain and surprise as I bounced back to the couch, but my voice was swallowed up by another clap-crackle-pop of thunder and lightning. The building trembled again. On the balcony, the mass unfurled wings that must have been at least six feet from shoulder to tip. They weren't even fully extended. The space just wasn’t wide enough to accommodate them. Its head turned in my direction looking at me with wide, emerald green eyes. My breath caught.

It was a dragon. Most definitely. And if I didn't know any better (how could I though) it seemed just as shocked and confused as I felt.

There was one final round of thunder and lightning after which the storm clouds dissipated and the sun beamed like nothing untoward had occurred. Except something had.

From my living room, I couldn't see the street, but I could hear car alarms sounding off, the honking of horns and clashing of metal on metal as vehicles collided, what sounded like hooves against concrete, voices raised in alarm, screaming and shouting. The sky was teeming with life, otherworldly life. I could make out flame feathered birds and winged horses, gargoyle-like creatures and other dragons, much, much bigger than the one now on my balcony. My eyes darted between the sky and the dragon. It looked at me, but made no move in my direction, so I tried to focus on my breathing and even managed to calm down a bit.

Until it tilted its head and said “Mama.” in a voice that sounded like someone had given a megaphone to a parrot.

I felt the color drain from my face as the room began to spin. “I’m sorry, but I have to reschedule a doctor's appointment.” was all I managed to say before I fainted.

********

After what felt like an eternity of floating in darkness, I became aware of bursts of hot, dry air against my face and neck. My eyes fluttered open and were greeted by a large, blue-green scaled dragon snout sniffing and nudging my shoulder. I was still leaning against the couch but had slid onto my side when I fainted. There was a dragon. In my apartment.

Suddenly very aware of its proximity, I sat up quickly wondering why I hadn't been toasted and eaten. The dragon sat back on its haunches, wings folded against its sides, shook its head and wagged its massive tail like a dog anticipating a treat. I stood up slowly, not taking my gaze off it, though I was now pretty sure I’d not come to harm. The dragon simply looked at me, its eyes bright with curiosity, slightly tilted its head, and blinked.

“Mama,” it said again. Right, a talking dragon, okay, why not.

I shook my head, which felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “Sorry, but I’m not your-”

It huffed loudly to interrupt, stomped its front legs and pointed with its snout in my direction. “Not mama,” it said, almost sounding annoyed, and then turned its entire body to face the balcony. Looking up at the sky, it said in a quieter tone “Mama. Gone.”

My heart dropped as it dawned on me that this was a baby dragon, and must have gotten separated from its mother in the storm. I approached it slowly offering my hand out for it to sniff. In all my 49 years spinning around the sun, I’d never considered dragons a possibility. Yet here we were.

“What is your name?” I asked. It seemed a reasonable enough thing to ask given that it had speech and intelligence. The dragon turned to look at me, then seeing my outstretched hand nudged my palm with its nose.

“Fifel.” it breathed into my hand. Then quickly sat back and wagged its tail side to side, the rough scales of it scraping off the top layer of carpet. There goes the security deposit, I thought to myself. “Fifel, second hatchling, son of Muyirh.”

My mouth almost fell open. It sounded so formal, and now I knew not only that it was a he, but that he had siblings, which made me wonder what happened to them too. He looked at me expectantly, emerald eyes shimmering.

‘Fifel.” I repeated, then pointed at myself “I’m Sophie.” The dragon nodded. Or at least I think he did.

“Sophie. Feed Fifel?” he said, tilting his head like a dog again. I almost laughed.

An hour later, having forgotten all about the flying thing and emptied the contents of my fridge to feed a ravenous baby dragon the size of a donkey, I stepped out to check on my neighbors. I knocked and waited but no one came to their doors, so I went back into my apartment and tried to wrap my mind around what was happening. The electricity was out, the internet was down, and every call I had tried to make either wouldn’t connect or went directly to voicemail. Even if I could have reached someone, I wasn't sure they’d know what was going on any more than I did.

Outside there were sirens in the distance, though a lot of the other noise had died down. Hesitant to leave the building I observed what I could from my balcony. Except for a couple of abandoned cars and what looked to be a unicorn grazing in the front yard, the street was eerily empty. The sky had mostly cleared of flying creatures, but none that remained were Fifel's mother.

Since there was nothing I could really do about any of it, I decided to focus on the dragon in my kitchen, devouring a week's worth of curry chicken and rice.

In case you were wondering, dragons are messy eaters. They don’t care much for table manners, Tofu or salads, but don’t mind radishes or carrots, are huge fans of Sriracha and hot sauces in general especially with chicken. Apparently chicken is truly where it's at. For Fifel at least. I had no real basis for comparison.

While he polished off my no-longer-secret stash of cookies and chocolate (definitely partial to sweets) I surveyed my living room. The pictures and paintings that hadn’t fallen from the walls were askew. Several plants would have to be repotted. Pretty much all of the books and knick-knacks had come off the shelves. Between the thunder, the wind and the dragon, the place looked trashed. It would take at least a couple of hours to deal with the bulk of the surface damage, the rest would have to wait for another day.

Fifel, having eaten his fill, curled into a ball on the balcony while I busied myself cleaning. It helped to not think about the weirdness of the situation. After wiping down the kitchen, I straightened pictures and knick-knacks, swept up broken glass, and placed anything that was beyond repair into a bin. The late afternoon sunlight glinted off Fifel's blue-green scales, his sides rising and falling with each breath. He made chirpy little snoring sounds as he dozed.

Finally having run out of steam, I decided on a cup of tea and zoned out at the kitchen counter while it steeped. I came back out to the living room, placed the cup on the coffee table and dropped into the couch letting my whole body relax for the first time in hours. Staring upward, I noticed the dent in the ceiling above me. That's when I remembered the flying thing.

Twice now I had lifted into the air in a manner that seemed to defy known laws of physics. Was it possible that I was misremembering? Did it actually happen or did the shock of everything exaggerate my perceptions? There was only one way to find out. I stood up and looked around. Not about to jump from my third story balcony to test this theory, the kitchen counter seemed the only place tall enough that would also support my weight. I didn't know how, or even if, it would manifest again so I placed couch cushions along the floor. Closing my eyes I took a deep breath.

This was insane. What was I doing? The picture of fitness I was not, if my awkward ascent to the counter was anything to go by, and injuries at my age did not heal so quickly. However this seemed to be the safest bet. I was either going to fly or fall. Ready for neither but bracing myself for both possibilities, I leapt forward from the counter.

Suffice it to say, I was not disappointed.

I did fly forward a few feet further than should have been possible, but unsure of how to move my body in midair I lost momentum and fell to the floor just past the trail of cushions. Since I wasn't more than 3 or 4 feet off the ground, I landed on my hands and knees, which as the saying goes, weren’t what they used to be.

Groaning with aching discomfort, I lifted myself slowly to standing. There was a huff-snort from the direction of the balcony. Fifel was looking at me with half closed eyes, his head tilted in that expectant manner of his.

“What?” I asked, unable to shake the feeling I was being judged. “It's not like I was born with wings, like you.”

He huffed/snorted again, shifted and looked away but didn’t reply.

“Really,” I said, my hands on my hips “What?”

He looked back at me and, I swear, rolled his eyes. “Sophie overthinks. Process same without wings.”

Overthinks. Process. He was throwing around some pretty complex concepts for a baby dragon. Again though, I had no basis for comparison at this point but as it happens, he was right. My attempt at a witty retort was interrupted by a familiar ringtone comming from my purse at the same time as the electricity kicked back on.

********

Turns out what had happened in the valley, happened all over the world.

Now I don't mean that suddenly everyone could fly and found themselves a de facto caretaker to a baby dragon. However, just about everyone had encountered or seen a formerly mythical creature, and just about everyone developed some form of seemingly magical ability.

The first couple of months after “the influx”, as the event came to be called, were chaos. Governments struggled to explain the sudden appearance of mythical beings that were mythical no more, and were at a loss as to how to respond to a populace suddenly developing supernatural powers.

At first there was widespread panic, riots, protests, curfews were instated, registries were created to try and keep track of who could do what which resulted in more protests. Philosophers and scientists argued with each other about the nature of reality, ultra religious folk bickered among themselves about the end of days, yet there wasn't a single person who could explain any of it. But little by little people came to terms with this new reality and began the process of investigating and trying to understand.

The government was, at best, ambiguous about addressing the creatures as many possessed sentience, ability to communicate, and seemingly little desire to have much to do with us. The majority had retreated into wild, unpopulated areas. Having been deemed nonthreatening, they were left alone for the most part.

As far as anyone could tell, there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to what powers a person developed. Some were subtle and seemingly useless, while the overwhelming majority had practical applications, though a few were downright dangerous. My next door neighbor Neville, an accountant who had been bald as a banana, had developed the ability to grow his hair just by thinking about it.

His wife Celia, also an accountant, was able to generate ice and snow with her breath, so they saved a good deal on their electric bill that summer.

My friend Muriel, a journalist for the local paper, could split into three very distinct aspects of herself. Not personalities, as each version was still very much her. One was better at handling practical issues, one had an immense amount of creativity, and the third was reserved, quick witted and diplomatic. It didn't take long for her to figure out how to get three times as much accomplished over the course of the day, tailoring the tasks that best suited each aspect. What’s more, she no longer had to settle when she couldn't decide which outfit to wear. Most of the time. On occasion the phrase “to argue with oneself” took on a literal meaning. She also had to get three times as much sleep every time she “split up”.

Her sister Anna, an artist like myself, whose ability to be clumsy rivaled my own, could suddenly heat things up to unthinkable temperatures with her hands. She had, by accident, nearly burned down their house a couple of times.

My ability to fly had done wonders for getting places on time, though I was still clumsy with my execution and had the bumps and bruises to show for it. Fivel made no comment on my progress, but I had a feeling he was filled with embarrassment on my behalf. Since I was quite used to being clumsy, this was just another way to be so.

Given that most people were still nervous about dragons, I continued to care for Fivel in secret. Or as much in secret as one could keep a growing baby dragon. Somehow the event had weakened him just as it imbued people with magic. For weeks, he mostly slept, ate, watched tv, had me read to him, ate and slept some more. The amount of food I brought home to feed him decreased once he regained his strength and began to hunt for himself. Since there was no way to be subtle about it, he would only go out once it got dark. Apparently he didn’t need the light to hunt, his sense of smell and hearing being more than adequate for the task. Every few days he would sit next to me as I scoured the internet for any sightings of his mother and siblings. People were regularly uploading massive amounts of videos and pictures of sightings and encounters, but half a year later we still hadn’t come across anything useful.

Until ‘the black robes’ woke up.

The story was that they had been discovered several hours after the event, in a clearing on the eastern side of the valley by a group of hikers out surveying the damage. All seven of them were found lying on their backs in a circle, unconscious, dressed in identical black robes, their arms and hands marked with nearly identical, glowing tattoos. They were thought to be members of some sort of cult who were unlucky enough to get caught in the lightning storm. However, since they remained unconscious and no one seemed to know who they were, they became nothing more than a minor curiosity among greater ones, forgotten in the ensuing upheaval to everyone but the nurses and doctors entrusted with their care.

When they simultaneously came out of their collective coma, a whole new layer of weirdness was added to the already fancifull life we were living.