The Soul Dragon

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. When the Great Hunt nearly decimated the world’s dragon population, Signoid Valley became one of many nature reserves across the nine continents set aside for the preservation and restoration of the few species that remained. The humanoids—witches, wizards, dwarves, elves, fae, and, of course, humans—thought themselves the great saviors of dragonkind for this generosity.

Dragons didn’t want their charity, their pity. They didn’t want to be treated like the exotic animals the humans kept in their zoos, circuses, and “rescues.” They were not pets to be kept for anyone’s amusement. Dragons had ruled this world long before any of the humanoids had been created, and they would rule once again.

At least, that was the plan of the Earth Dragons of Signoid Valley.

Planetary cycles passed. Hundreds of them. The Earth Dragons grew complacent. With humanoids to provide for them, they lost the will to hunt. Rather than use their influence over the land for feats of magical strength, the Earth Dragons performed cheap tricks to entertain visitors to the valley. Tales of glory and conquest became just that—tales. Many traditions were thrust aside or watered-down, and those that remained were understood by very few.

So when the current chief’s mate, Galilahi, laid nine eggs during the full moon of the winter solstice and they hatched six lunar cycles later under the full moon of the summer solstice, only one dragon knew what to expect: Galilahi’s clutch-mate, Wahkan.

When the smallest egg would not hatch, not even rock, the chief—Austenaco—Galilahi, and their advisors wanted to abandon it as a dud. It had such a soft shell, after all. How could the dragonet have developed properly or even survived? Not to mention the odd coloring. Whereas the other eight eggs were a deep brown or forest green, something appropriate for an Earth Dragon egg, this one was milky white, and a sparkling rainbow seemed to swirl beneath that sickly layer whenever light hit it. It could not be healthy, if it hatched.

Yet before Austenaco could crack open the egg, releasing the dragonet’s carcass so that it could be burned and free the dragonet’s soul, Wahkan snatched it up and ran from the rocky enclosure that served as the chief’s shelter. She gently set the egg beside the lake at the center of the valley. As soon as the moonlight hit the egg, the rainbow on the shell swirling more madly than before, a crack began to form. Then another. And another. Soon, a dragonet’s hooked snout broke its way through the shell. A clawed foot ripped an opening, followed by another. With a stretch of its proud wings, the dragonet burst forth, sending egg shards flying.

A crowd had gathered by this time, including Austenaco and Galilahi. Once again, only Wahkan was not surprised by what they saw: a runt dragonet covered in a translucent hide. Just beneath that hide, what appeared to be a second, pure white layer glowed. Opalescent eyes darted about until they landed on the dragonet’s dam. With the kind of slippery grace only a newborn can have, the dragonet scrambled toward her and dove for the safety and familiar warmth of the larger dragon’s underbelly.

The mother’s wide, worried eyes met her mate’s. Whispers were exchanged among those gathered, and the more discreet advisors tried to nudge the stunned parents back to their other new dragonets. With Wahkan remaining silent, no one seemed to know what to make of this transparent dragonet. When Austenaco finally gathered his wits, he took Galilahi and their daughter under his wing and ushered them back into their enclosure, the advisors and Wahkan close behind.

Once inside the enclosure, one advisor, Yona, grumbled, “What is this monstrosity?”

“She’s my daughter!” Galilahi snapped.

“It’s an abomination!” another advisor chimed in.

“Not it,” Wahkan said, “she. A beautiful she—”

“She, he, or it, this dragonet is clearly an omen,” Yona declared. “Who has ever heard of an Earth Dragon with a hide…with a hide like that?”

“They are not wrong, my love,” Austenaco said as he ran a clawed appendage carefully down his daughter’s wingsail. “She looks so vulnerable and fragile with this hide. Prey could easily see her, not to mention a predator like a hellhound. Even if she lives to adulthood, assuming she is healthy otherwise, she would never survive a hunt—”

Wahkan snorted. “A hunt? No dragon in this valley has hunted for generations. And the humanoids would never let a hellhound or any other predator get near us, especially the dragonets.”

“But…what could have made her this way?” Austenaco asked. “I have never seen anything like this. Have any of us?”

“I told you, she is an omen,” Yona insisted, “or a curse. Some humanoid must have cast a spell on us. We must destroy—”

A heart-wrenching cry followed by eight screeches drew the dragons’ attention to the dragonets. While the adults bickered, the transparent female had slipped out from under her mother’s protective underbelly and wobbled over to her siblings. The largest of her brothers, cranky from the intrusion but also instinctively recognizing her as his blood, engaged her in play-wrestling that quickly grew too rough. One of the female’s wingsails tore, causing her to cry out in pain. Suddenly, the transparent layer of the torn wing assumed the same dark brown as the dirt filling the clutching area, right down to the varying shades of the slightest dips and hills in the ground. Each time the female moved, the wing changed with her background, effectively disappearing. Only the crimson of the blood dripping from her wound remained visible. With their sister now seemingly without her wing, the other dragonets screeched in fear.

Austenaco and Galilahi rushed to separate the other dragonets from the transparent female. Wahkan, meanwhile, scooped the female up in her foreleg and held her close to her underbelly to stem the bleeding.

“See? Do you all see?” Yona exclaimed. “No Earth Dragon can...”

A disgruntled rumble broke out among the advisors. Accusations—everything from infidelity on Galilahi’s part to one of their wizard caretakers cursing the entire clutch—flew out of their mouths without thought. Some called for banishment. Others, death. All the while, the dragonet whined and pressed closer to Wahkan. Not even the blood deterred the older dragon as she held the injured newborn tightly.

“Listen here,” she proclaimed. “She is not a threat—”

“How do you know?” Yona snapped.

Wahkan narrowed her eyes. “I have my sources.” She turned to the dragonet and licked at her wound for some preliminary cleaning. Wahkan considered her next words carefully. “If you need to learn more, you will. For now, trust that I know she is not harmful. To prove it, I will take her. She will stay in my dwelling up in the mountainside for a planetary cycle, and I will raise her as if she were my own. If nothing bad happens to the clan during that time, it will prove that she is not an omen or a curse. Then she can be introduced to our clan.”

“And if something happens?” Yona asked.

“Well, then you will never hear from nor see us again.”

“Wahkan!” Galilahi shrieked.

Austenaco continued, “You don’t need to entangle yourself in our mess…”

“She is my clutch-mate’s spawn. I would die for her, for any of you.”

They all knew the seriousness of Wahkan’s declaration. There was little a dragon would give their life for: honor, ego, home, loved ones. To even suggest it carried more weight than the dragon could. So, reluctantly, the advisors agreed to the plan, and Wahkan was dismissed to tend to the injured dragonet.

Holding her passenger close, Wahkan rose into the sky and wafted over the expansive valley to the mountains outlining the northern border. Over the lush foothills, just above the tree line, a ledge stretched out, as though greeting Wahkan and guiding her straight into the heart of the tallest mountain. She landed with all the poise she could muster with only three legs available. Once she regained her footing, Wahkan trotted into the cave.

Inside, an eclectic collection of dragon and humanoid relics greeted her and the dragonet. At the center of the room, three dragonet-sized crystals—one blue, one red, and one yellow—glowed on the floor in front of a section of dirt sequestered by polished black stones. The light of the crystals illuminated the front of the cave, casting an eerie yet awe-inspiring atmosphere over the relics. A vast supply of flowers, herbs, and other medicinal plants had been stacked against one wall. Next to them lay two small stacks of leather-bound books with a handful of weathered scrolls strewn throughout. Various basic humanoid-crafted medical equipment, ointments, elixirs, and other medicines cluttered on a log fashioned into a makeshift table. On the opposite wall leaned several clay pots, mortars, and pistols of varying sizes, some too small for Wahkan to realistically hold. Beside the pots, an anatomically correct dragon mannequin with sheer lace wingsails loomed. The mere sight of everything overwhelmed the translucent dragonet, forcing her to retreat further into her guardian’s embrace. Wahkan, however, was home.

Wahkan took the dragonet to the makeshift table and placed her gently beside it.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Wahkan murmured in a soothing voice as the dragonet screeched in pain, “we’ll fix that wing in no time.” She hurriedly collected supplies from among the plants and humanoid equipment. “You know, we—Earth Dragons, that is—we once called Phoenixes down from volcanoes whenever someone as young as you was hurt. Same with the very elderly and our warriors in dire need. They would gladly donate their tears to the noble act of healing the vulnerable.” Wahkan set the supplies next to the dragonet. She carefully unfurled the injured wing, but the dragonet still whimpered. The wing turned the grayish-tan of the cave floor beneath it, all except the blood stains. “Of course, that was before the Removal. There are no Phoenixes here. We make do, though. The others in our clan are…selectively stubborn when it comes to which aspects of humanoid cultures that they merge with ours and which help they accept from our humanoid caretakers.” She picked up a small vial between her first and opposable claws and examined the characters on the side: ALCOHOL. Using the nails of her claws, she pulled out the stopper and poured some of the contents onto a little fluffy ball that came from the same box as the vial. “I can see the value in the humanoids’ knowledge, at least in some things. I don’t approve of all their medicines, but while we are lacking, what they are willing to give shall work.”

Wahkan cringed when she first pressed the alcohol-soaked ball onto the dragonet’s wound. The dragonet let out a horrific wail and slashed at the air ferociously. With one forefoot, Wahkan held down the distressed newborn, and with the other, she cleaned the wound. Soon, she disposed of the ball and moved on to her stash of medicinal plants grown in Signoid Valley. There, Wahkan found a purple flower with a stem full of green goo that served as a numbing agent. She snapped the stem and squeezed the goo directly onto both sides of the dragonet’s injury, spreading it with another fluffy ball. The dragonet crooned in relief, and the corners of Wahkan’s mouth lifted slightly.

Once she was sure that the sensitive wingsail was numb, Wahkan set to the task of sewing it together again. As though the excruciatingly small needle and thread weren’t already difficult enough for her to handle, Wahkan had finally reached the only part of the procedure that she had doubts about. She had practiced repairing this sort of injury and many more on the life-sized dragon mannequin more times than she could count since her humanoid contact had gotten it for her. She had never done any of them on any of her fellow dragons, let alone a dragonet. She had never dared to. If something went wrong, they would surely blame the humanoid invention—although the humanoids were far, far beyond the use of the lowly needle and thread by now—and, by extension, Wahkan for bringing it to them. It didn’t really matter when she was using it on a dragonet they had already threatened to kill, though.

A low growl ripped from her throat at the thought. With a gentle yet firm force, Wahkan drove the threaded needle through the numbed wingsail and clumsily went to work.

“If only they knew what you really are,” she said to the dragonet. “I should have told them, I know, but I couldn’t. They wouldn’t have believed me. They trust my healing, but they don’t believe the stories.”

Wahkan tied off the end of the stitches with her slender, flexible tongue and broke the thread off with her teeth. Satisfied, she returned the supplies to their places. Wahkan then scooped the translucent dragonet up in her foreleg and carried her to the center of the polished black stones.

“Come, my little Wahkansa,” Wahkan whispered as she lowered the dragonet to the section of the dirt closest to the crystals. “We have quite the life ahead of us, and tomorrow is just the first day.”

Wahkan curled up behind her charge, and Wahkansa immediately nudged her way against Wahkan’s underbelly before following her guardian’s example. Wahkan opened one opalescent eye to watch as Wahkansa’s translucent outer hide shifted to match Wahkan’s dark mud-brown coloring. Her chest so full it almost hurt, Wahkan vibrated the dirt beneath them so quickly that it heated to a comfortable, muscle-relaxing warmth. The blue, red, and yellow of the glowing crystals bled together over the dragons’ bodies as they slowly drifted off to sleep.

“Goodnight, my little Soul Dragon.”

To be continued...