DragonSplice

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Let’s just say it wasn’t “fashionable.” Until Lilia LongCavern showed up one morning, strolling down the promenade as if she owned the entire town (of course her parents did) with a three-foot green strider on a gold chain, and it all changed. Now, you can’t take two steps without bumping into one of the nearly endless varieties of little creatures in tow by their proud owners. There’s a Dragon Park in the center of town, right next to Dragon Fashions and Dragon Boba Café. Dragon Envy will be happy to make sure you have every accessory needed, down to their platinum studded collars and their useless “flame retardant” leashes. Useless, you see, as no dragon big or small has breathed fire in a thousand years. Nor has any born in that millennia displayed the legendary magic each breed once possessed.

Some say it was Lilia’s father’s idea to move the smaller species off the farms surrounding the valley and breed them even smaller. Rumor has it that his ancestors were the first to begin breeding the magic out of the dragons, especially the gift of DragonFire. After all, a fire-breathing dragon was about the biggest threat anyone could conceive to the farms that fed the valley. Hotter than any flame man could produce in his greatest furnace, and impossible to extinguish, green DragonFire from an adult spread and burned relentlessly until it finally sank, forever glowing into the holes it created. They’d all heard the stories passed down for centuries: massive famines, crops turned to ashes across thousands of acres, and entire villages reduced to cinders, despite sacrificed maidens chained to stakes by a lake. Dragons had long ago been bred out of such powers, tamed, domesticated, and staked to a plow.

As the years ticked by, the bigger fire-breathing varieties were hunted to extinction. Long gone were the varied powers of other species: Chameleons with invisibility, Crushers with stone-grinding jaws, Nomads flying faster than the wind, Scraylings with mind-numbing roars, DangerTails with venomous spikes, and a catalog of magical traits now lost across generations. Today in the Valley, the only dragons you’ll see are those on a leash. Purple, green, yellow, orange, and just about every color and pattern you can imagine under the sun. DartDragons, ShieldDragons, EmeraldShines, CrystalFalls, TrinitySpikes, IronScales, and an ever-growing list of breeds and crossbreeds driven by an endless demand across and far beyond the valley. One single valley had shifted the views of an entire continent and changed everyone’s assumptions about dragons. In the Valley today, dragons are little more than fashion accessories and status symbols--the more exotic or rare the breed, the greater the status.

“Oh Lilia,” exclaimed the shopkeeper, “Wherever did you find this one!”

“Daddy,” she replied. “He ordered her from a special rainforest supplier. I named her Orchid. Isn’t she just gorgeous?”

The shopkeeper looked down at the iridescent scales covering the dragon as it nuzzled Lilia’s leg affectionately. Its jet-black eyes blinked repeatedly as vertical lids opened and closed rapidly. Nearby, Lilia’s entourage of friends perused the shop leading their own small dragons.

The shopkeeper held up a collar embedded with bright green emeralds. “Don’t you think this season’s Gem Line is perfect for her? Look how these jewels compliment her skin!” Lilia gave a passing glance at the collar, dismissing the object with a wave of her hand.

“That’s so last season,” she stated. “You should know better than to hawk your old inventory in my direction. Show me something…exciting!”

Despite his efforts, the shopkeeper made little progress in selling his wares.

“Enough,” offered an exasperated Lilia as she gestured to her friends. “On to the next shop,” she declared.

“Wait, wait, wait!” exclaimed the shopkeeper. “I have something very special, just arrived. Another moment and I promise you will not be disappointed.”

“Very well,” replied Lilia. “But only a moment.”

The shopkeeper disappeared quickly behind a curtain at the back of the store, descending a small set of stairs into a dark and poorly lit basement. Hunched over a bench, a young girl worked meticulously on a small bracelet, etching an intricate design into its silver surface.

“Jeanea TouchStone,” exclaimed the shopkeeper, “give me that bracelet!” The girl - who wore a charcoal vest embroidered with rune designs and green tunic beneath - placed her silversmith tools down quickly. She turned her unusually bright emerald eyes upon the shopkeeper, adjusting her matching charcoal pants as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“But it’s not finished Mr. Dolomite,” replied the dark-haired girl, keeping her head down as she reluctantly handed it to him.

“You’re never finished,” he replied in a kind voice. "And your work is more amazing each season,” complimented the man as he admired the craftsmanship, drawing the bracelet into the candlelight. As he pulled it closer to him, a chain of silver with each link engraved emerged, attached to yet another intricate bracelet. “You have outdone yourself again,” shared Mr. Dolomite as he smiled down upon her. The girl handed him a tiny key and inserted it into a gold lock, now connecting a longer chain.

Jeanea flashed back to scattered memories of her youth. She could see the strong but withered hands of her mother showing her how to hold the etching and carving tools. She remembered the warmth of the fire her father tended in the cottage, and the long hours they waited for him to return from the mines. The risks he took to bring home the silver which they used to supply their jewelry to the merchants of the Valley. Risks that finally caught up with him when Jeanea was only eight years old. Not long after, the following winter took her mother. If not for the kindness of Mr. Dolomite, her last eight years would have been spent on the streets with the rest of the Valley’s orphans.

Jeanea rose from the bench and followed as the man rushed up the stairs, parting the curtains just enough so she could see the prospective buyer. She watched as Lilia played the bracelets and chains across her arms, so many hours of work at her bench now a small part of an endless collection to another. Lilia draped the chain around Orchid, securing the bracelets on the dragon’s arms and placing the key in her purse. Mr. Dolomite smiled as the transaction was completed.

Jeanea turned to descend the stairs and almost tripped. As she stumbled and caught her balance, a small shriek could be heard throughout the shop followed by a bright green flash! The shopkeeper and Lilia’s entire entourage turned toward the curtain at the back and clearly saw the illumination grow in intensity.

“That darn boiler again!” exclaimed Mr. Dolomite. “I must stop buying that cheaper fuel,” he offered as he began ushering the girls toward the door. “Thank you so much for your business, ladies,” he completed as he did his best to politely close the door behind them and flip the sign in the window to CLOSED.

“Ash!” exclaimed Jeanea. “You know better than to sneak up on me like that,” she chided looking down at a small and plain grey dragon. Ash lowered her head apologetically as she began to scuttle back under the workbench. “Do you have any idea what will happen to us if they discover you have the gift of fire? We will be hunted like the old days! You will never see me or our home again,” she scolded. She reached down and pressed her cheek against Ash’s cheek. “You know I cannot bear losing you,” she whispered softly. The dragon made an endearing sound, like that of a cat purring.

“Sorry!” yelled Jeanea up the stairs in the direction of the shopkeeper. The old man parted the curtains and gazed down toward her bench.

“You know I do not question your methods Jeanea, and your creativity has become the reason for the success of our shop. Your secret, and that of your little friend will always be safe with me. But please, try to be more careful,” he said. “That boiler story will only work so many times.”

“I will. I promise,” replied Jeanea as she fed a small, dried sardine to her companion at her feet and drew another plate of raw silver from a chest to begin her next piece.

Outside, Lilia LongCavern and her friends continued their stroll through the town center. As they walked, Orchid began scratching at her new bracelets and chain. The colors of the dragon’s iridescent skin began to slowly shift. No one noticed as the etchings in the jewelry began to glow, ever so slightly. As Orchid followed her master, walking from the gray sidewalks to patches of green lawn, the dragon’s skin shifted to match her background. In the thick of afternoon crowds, no one noticed as Lilia held a collar and leash, that for just a moment, appeared to be…empty.

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“Prefect LongCavern,” said the guard at the gate, “Welcome home sir.”

The man dressed in a scarlet, wide-lapeled jacket grasped and dipped the brim of his matching velvet hat, politely recognizing the guard as steam hissed from his motor carriage passing slowly by. Ahead, at the end of a long driveway, awaited a mansion lined by perfectly separated trees. The trees were enormous, clearly centuries old, not a single one missing on either side of the drive.

Glancing between the trees, the Prefect could see stone walls arranged across acres of fields, each containing dozens of small dragons being tended by footmen with tall staffs and wide brimmed hats to protect them from the sun. The varying colors of these creatures gave the fields the appearance of a multi-colored quilt from the distance, spreading for miles across the vast plantation. As the carriage approached closer to the house, a series of gates and corrals emerged, leading to groupings of massive barn-like structures whose open doors revealed hundreds of stalls. There, DragonTenders guided groups of the small creatures into separate pens, organizing them by color and type. The tenders were unusually short in stature compared to other workers nearby. As the steam carriage drove to the rear of the mansion, the songs of the DragonSirens floated by, calming the animals as they were loaded into boxcars no bigger than a bale of hay. The Sirens, men and women, each had long blonde and red braided hair flowing past their waists. As the dragons were loaded into the boxcars, they lay down in the hay, as the music coaxed them into a gentle sleep. In the distance, the Prefect followed with his eye the tiny railroad winding down the hill toward the valley center.

“I’ll just pop out here,” said the Prefect to his driver, still some distance from the main house.

“As you wish,” replied the driver, stopping the steam carriage and opening the door. The tall man in the scarlet velvet suit brushed his jacket and adjusted his hat as he walked toward a small hut.

“Percival,” he directed at an elderly man keeping tally as the dragons were loaded. “How goes our quota for the week?”

“Fine sir. Happy to say just fine. Thanks to your design of this place, peace and tranquility endure, as do our numbers. More than twelve percent over last year,” offered Percival.

“Outstanding,” replied the Prefect. “Please see that everyone gets a little more in their pay this month. How much, I leave to you.”

“I will indeed sir, and thank you,” replied Percival.

The Prefect began walking toward the back entrance of the mansion. As he passed by each worker, he was greeted kindly with genuine smiles and handshakes. Opening the door, he hung his hat and jacket on the tall coat rack. Unlike the outside of the home, which was populated with over a hundred workers, not a soul greeted him inside. He walked through the small kitchen, made a quick sandwich, and retreated to a nearby office. As he sat at a huge oak desk held aloft on ornately carved pillars of intertwining dragons, he reached for paper and pen and began a letter.

“General Helios,

Efforts continue as our breeding numbers increase. Despite the failure of recent trials, I am confident that it is only a matter of time before we succeed. The import of the Red Tarmanians discovered in the caves of Kygeria is most promising. When spliced with native Ossifidoptras, the offspring produce saliva with extremely high levels of a green colored substance with the characteristics of alcohol. To date, we have only been able to ignite this artificially, by attaching a flint mechanism to the jaws of the subjects. Sadly, combustion consumes every subject in the vivarium to date. However, we plan to cross these hybrids with StoneBreathers, whose lungs are known to secrete a highly protective lining, as we know did the dragons of old. With your continued support and the patience of the Council of Defense, we can have these hybrids operational for deployment to our borders before the next solstice. Please find enclosed sketches of the ignition mechanisms in the event our crossbreeds fail. I am happy to report that on the scale side, we celebrated the recent birth of a 26 sectar male.

Sincerely,

Prefect LongCavern

13/45:01/211

LongCavern folded the letter and rang a small gold bell on his desk with the handle of a dragon. Moments later, his driver entered the office to receive the missive, commenting, “I believe your daughter is home sir.” The Prefect quickly made his way to the front door to his daughter.

“Lilia, my sweetheart,” he said as he helped her with her bags at the entrance, “How was your day?”

“Exhausting Daddy,” she replied, making her way past her father, and collapsing on the sofa in the grand hall. “This valley has such a limited sense of fashion!” she exclaimed with exasperation.

“I’m quite confident that you will continue to direct them in that, my love,” replied her father as he took the leash of Orchid and began to lead her to a nearby dish of water.

“I see Orchid has a new accessory,” offered her father.

“Oh yes,” replied Lilia with a degree of apparent boredom. “Something I found at a shop that must suffice for now, though even I must admit that the carvings are impressive.”

The Prefect knelt and began petting the crest of Orchid’s head. He took the long chain in his hand, thumbing it forward as he admired link after link and their complex, yet somehow familiar, designs. Orchid became slightly warmer to his touch as he rubbed the chain, then rotating her bracelets in his other hand. The sun had begun to set and the natural lighting in the hallway dimmed. The Prefect glanced toward the still open front door and moved to close it. When he turned around, Orchid was nowhere to be seen! He furrowed his brow and rubbed his eyes, and Orchid reappeared! The approaching evening light must have deceived his eyes, he thought to himself.

“Forgive me daughter,” said the Prefect, turning again toward Livia. “I’ve had a long day too and must rest.”

As he spun once more to face Orchid, he saw it clearly. The chain around her neck and both bracelets glowed with an amber light. The dragon’s skin shifted to match the evening colors of the hallway, down to the matching pattern of the walls behind her. Once again, Orchid disappeared.

“Sweetheart,” asked Prefect LongCavern, “Tell me again where you found Orchid’s charming new jewelry?”