Here Be Dragons: Book 1 of the Emergence Series

“Can I ask about how you broke your wing?” Pryce asked that morning, soon after Ghorrah had gone hunting.

«Did you wait for Ghorrah to leave before asking that question?» Jooral asked, her eyes glinting observantly. «Not a bad idea; you have seen how she can be – and yes, I suppose you have earned it, though I am curious to know your past as well.»

“I can tell you about that later, when Ghorrah is here,” Pryce said, noticing Celeste’s curious gaze as Fathom translated for him.

«Very well, I will tell you my past, but you must ask Ghorrah for hers,» Jooral warned. «I met Ghorrah when I was only six years old. We became friends and decided to live together for a few years.» She said this with a faraway look in her eyes, and Pryce wondered how old these memories were. «One day, another dragon challenged me to a fight. She and I swore to follow the standard rules, but she immediately broke her promise by ripping up my wings, and I fell from the skies,» she said rather casually, and pointedly shifted her broken wing.

“Standard rules mean no weapons, and no attacking the wings,” Fathom added after his translation.

“Weapons?”

“Rocks.”

“Ah. Why did the other dragon break her promise?” Pryce asked, frowning.

«I was young, and so was she. She probably thought she could kill me,» Jooral said candidly. «If she did, then her chances of having an egg would have been better. It would have worked, if she had not approached me thinking I was too wounded to kill her.» The satisfaction in her words was evident, even before Pryce heard the translation. He had thought the ‘rules’ Fathom spoke seemed difficult to enforce, so it wasn’t surprising that some individuals would be less honorable than others. Humans had fought and killed for petty reasons since time immemorial, why would another sapient race be any different?

“Aren’t you supposed to have witnesses to kill another dragon? What happened here? Did Jooral face any consequences?” Pryce asked.

“You are supposed to, but sometimes dragons break rules,” Fathom growled contemptuously, as if the words themselves were distasteful. “In this case, Jooral did nothing wrong, and the invader is considered to be the one at fault.”

“Sounds like it can get complicated,” Pryce muttered. He turned to Jooral. “What happened afterwards?”

«After that, I was…well, not flying was horrible, of course,» she said, glancing at her broken wing, «but I had Ghorrah; she said she would take care of me while I recovered. Of course, I never fully healed, so now she is stuck with me forever.»

Celeste chuffed, and Pryce assumed that was something of an old joke between them.

«One day she suggested that I try making things,» Jooral snorted in amusement. «I doubted I could do anything like that, and I was right, at least for the first few years…but she kept encouraging me, until I became the best,» she said, with not undeserved complacency.

“I see, thank you for telling me. Your strength is admirable,” Pryce said, bowing his head a little.

«Why are you doing that? We traded information, there is no need for thanks,» Jooral said, flicking her spines dismissively.

«...That is a human thing, I think,» Fathom answered for Pryce.

“Pretty much,” Pryce shrugged.

«I am still confused; why did you say I was strong?» Jooral asked, tilting her head.

“You got hurt, you lost a lot, but you are still happy, and you didn’t let that stop you from…being you,” Pryce said earnestly.

Fathom paused for a second before translating this, just long enough for Pryce to take notice. Had he said something offensive, somehow?

Jooral contemplated this for a few moments, her spines flattened slightly as she tapped a talon against the ground in thought. «Did you tell them?» she asked Celeste, breaking the silence.

«I did not,» Celeste replied, looking interested for reasons Pryce couldn’t discern.

«Interesting…Ghorrah likes to say that to me,» Jooral said in response to Pryce and Fathom’s confused expressions. «Even if it is obvious that she is the strong one,» she said with something of an affectionate huff. «If not for her, I would have died back then; it is not strength if one relies upon another,» Jooral said in what sounded remarkably similar to a lecturing tone. «If I am strong, then it is not because of that.»

“Humans are different, we live together and help each other to help ourselves, we could not do very much if we did everything alone.”

«...Yes,» she said, eyeing him contemplatively, «If that is how humans live, then I think I can see why you would think that way, but we are very different.»

“Of course,” Pryce said, nodding. He wasn’t sure if he could change her mind, but it was probably best not to push her.

«This reminds me, father,» Celeste said into the preceding silence, «you have still not explained how your wing was healed».

«Oh, yes, Pryce fixed it,» Fathom said, extending his left wing and gesturing to the scars where the injury had been.

«What.» Jooral stood up and approached Fathom slowly, her eyes locked upon his wing. «This bone was bent?» She asked severely, her demands a sharp contrast to her previously easy-going personality.

«Yes, two months ago that bone was bent like this,» Fathom said, tracing the angle that the bone had been fixed in for seventeen years.

Jooral opened her mouth, then closed it. She opened it again after a moment’s indecision, as if afraid of the answer.

«How?» She asked, barely concealing her shock.

“I cannot fix your wing,” Pryce said, getting the bad news out of the way. At his request, Fathom explained what had happened with regard to the healing of his wing, with Celeste and Jooral listening raptly, though the latter was quite distracted.

“Fathom’s injury was less severe, but even then I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to fix it,” Pryce explained when Fathom was done recounting the story.

“Was it that bad?” Fathom asked, looking somewhat distressed by this piece of information.

“Yes, your bones are too strong, my tools were almost not good enough to cut them. I’m honestly surprised it healed so well,” Pryce confessed.

“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?” Fathom asked indignantly, flexing his wing as if to reassure himself that it was still functioning properly.

“I didn’t want you to worry unless there was reason to, and it was healing well,” Pryce said, shrugging helplessly.

“I would have liked it better if you told me,” Fathom grumbled reproachfully.

“Well…you never asked,” Pryce pointed out.

“That…is true,” Fathom begrudgingly admitted, his irritation deflating. He looked around to see Jooral and Celeste’s impatient expressions, so he quickly translated their conversation.

«...It is alright, I have not flown in centuries,» Jooral said once he had recounted their exchange. Oddly enough, she sounded almost…relieved? «I enjoy making things with my hands, and I am used to the discomfort; it does not bother me very much anymore.»

“I wasn’t finished,” Pryce said. “I cannot fix your wing, but if humans learned more about dragons, then maybe in ten years we could try and fix it.”

Silence.

«This is great, is it not?» Celeste asked cheerfully, though her excitement was damped by Jooral’s shocked expression.

«I…I would like to be alone,» Jooral said, quietly excusing herself before she stumbled away, as if in a daze.

«But…why…?» Celeste asked her father, confusion apparent in her eyes.

«I think I know what she is thinking,» Fathom replied once Jooral was too far to hear their conversation. «When Pryce fixed my wing, I had no way to know if I could fly well until I was healed enough to try.»

Celeste only silently frowned as she waited for her father to continue.

«She thought that she would never fly again, but found purpose in her craft. It is easy to give up on something when it is impossible, but now…» Fathom sighed sympathetically, «she has hope, and that, in a way, is worse.»

«I…still don’t understand,» Celeste said.

«Maybe I am not explaining it well,» Fathom grumbled.

“I can see that, but it might be something else too,” Pryce said once this had been translated for him. “Imagine a group of ten dragons, the strongest would be happiest, but who do you think the unhappiest would be?”

“The weakest, of course,” Fathom answered.

“Wrong, the weakest has nothing to lose, and so they have nothing to worry about. It is the second strongest who would be the most unhappy.”

Fathom looked like he was about to protest, then paused for a second. “…Yes, I can understand that. So you’re saying that Jooral was happy not having to fight, so she doesn’t know how to feel about the chance to be ‘strong’ again?”

“It’s just a guess, it is something humans have noticed in ourselves and in other animals; it might be different for dragons,” Pryce shrugged, and let Fathom translate their conversation for Celeste. “How old is Jooral, by the way?” He asked when Fathom fell silent.

“Four-hundred and thirty-seven,” Fathom answered, staggering Pryce. “Ghorrah is four-hundred and thirty-nine years old.”

“She’s what?” He exclaimed in shock. “But she doesn’t look old!”

“She does look old, her scales are dull,” Fathom said, confused. “What do you mean by ‘look old’?”

“You said old dragons are around five hundred years old, right?” Pryce asked, a ridiculous conclusion forming in the back of his mind. “When things get old they get weak and slow, but Jooral isn’t like that at all.”

“Old dragons get weak and slow because they get hurt, or sick, but Jooral’s body is not hurt, and she is not sick either,” Fathom said, squinting in confusion.

Pryce opened his mouth, then paused to think. Dying of old age wasn’t common in nature, so it would be difficult to see the symptoms in other animals, and if old dragons died from illness or injury then that meant…

He sat down, putting his head in his hands. “Oh hell.”

“What? Is something wrong?” Fathom asked, concerned but unsure of why Pryce was so affected by this conversation.

“Let me get this straight; if dragons do not get sick, do they not get weaker as they age?” Pryce asked.

“If by ‘get straight’ you mean ‘clarify', then yes, though everyone is killed or gets sick eventually. Are humans not like that?”

“No!”

Fathom pulled his head back in alarm as he began to realize why Pryce was so shocked. “Wait, humans start to get weak and slow even if you do not get sick or hurt?”

“Yes, like every other normal creature,” Pryce stressed.

“But…I thought humans died early because they were killed by something, why would you get weaker for no reason? When do humans start getting weaker?” Fathom asked, visibly distressed.

“It starts when we’re around thirty years old, but it’s not too bad until we get to fifty. After eighty most of us can’t really do much on our own,” Pryce shrugged.

“But you…you’re fifty years old,” Fathom said, his eyes wide, as if Pryce might to keel over at any moment.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to drop dead anytime soon,” Pryce reassured, trying to wave off his concern. “We don’t just get sick and die, it’s a slow process.”

Fathom only stared with his mouth open, as if struggling to come up with the right words to express his sentiments. “…That is not fair,” he said, lamely.

“Well...like you said, the sun will rise,” Pryce sighed. “By the way, who was the oldest dragon?”

“The oldest dragon in history that I know of lived to seven hundred and twenty-three years, but most do not make it to five hundred,” he added, as if this were only an interesting piece of trivia.

“If a dragon lived over six hundred years then why did you tell me that an old dragon is five hundred years old?” Pryce groused in exasperation.

“That is an old dragon,” Fathom protested. “The one who lived for six hundred years is very, very old.”

«What is he saying?” Celeste inquired, seeing that her father was upset by whatever words they had exchanged. «But that is not much time at all,» she exclaimed upon hearing the translation. “How under the Sun do they get anything done in so little time?»

«There are a lot of them, and they work together, so that must be how,» Fathom said, expressing his doubt.

“Did she say under the sun?” Pryce asked, hoping to change the dreary subject. “I think I heard Jooral say that earlier, what does that mean?”

“It is…difficult to explain. It can mean anything and everything, because all things are under the sun. It’s often used when someone is surprised,” Fathom explained, then added a tad defensively, “it doesn’t translate very well.”

“I think I understand, there’s a human expression that’s similar, we say ‘How in the world?’ or ‘How on earth?’”

“Interesting, that is similar,” Fathom noted, while Celeste looked impatient.

“Does Celeste want to learn English?” Pryce asked. “I think she’s getting tired of asking for translations all the time.”

«There is a lot of time left today, can I learn human speech? It is tiring to be always asking about what is being said,» Celeste said. «Why are you laughing?» She asked, tilting her head quizzically.

«You two asked for the same thing,» Fathom chuckled.

“Is ‘I go hunt now,’ correct?” Celeste asked, a few hours later.

“It is ‘I will go hunting now’, but what you said is understandable,” Fathom corrected, nodding his head approvingly. “And yes, I am hungry, so we can go hunt together.”

“Wait, I have…thing,” Celeste stammered. “You watch Pryce, I will go hunting, and we…urhg, we switch tomorrow, and the one who finishes hunting enough food for the both of us faster wins,” she said, switching back to her native tongue out of frustration.

«That is an ‘idea’, and yes, I accept this challenge,” Fathom smirked, a competitive glint in his eyes. “Pryce, can you check the time with the chronometer? Celeste wants to see how quickly she can hunt,” he called out, then added, «I am hungry, so try not to take too long, alright?»

«Do not worry; I will be back very soon,» Celeste said, narrowing her eyes before leaping into the skies.

Pryce approached him once the dust settled down. The human had listened to Fathom’s lessons for half an hour before excusing himself to scribble in those books of his – Fathom was faintly impressed that he never seemed to run out of things to write about.

“It is 5:31 pm,” Pryce said. “I’m glad you were able to teach Celeste English without my help. She has learned very quickly; soon she can teach other dragons too,” Pryce said.

“Of course she has learned quickly," Fathom said, raising his head with pride. "She is my daughter, after all.”

“She is learning even more quickly than you, maybe she’s more like her mother?” Pryce smirked.

Fathom snorted in amusement. “That was a weak one; we both know it is because I can speak both of our languages,” he said, rolling his eyes. “In fact, this means that I am a better teacher than you,” he said smugly.

“Well, if you’re such a great teacher then you can do all the teaching from now on, right?”

“...well done,” Fathom sighed, begrudgingly conceding the point.

Pryce’s smile faded as he adopted a somber expression. “How many dragons do you think have wing injuries like hers?”

“Not many, less than ten, and probably only one or two that are worse than hers.”

“Really? That’s lower than I thought,” Pryce said, raising an eyebrow.

“Most crashes that bad will kill the dragon, and if they survived with injuries like hers, then they would probably kill themselves,” Fathom shrugged.

Pryce stood staring for a moment, then asked quietly, “...how often does that happen?”

“Hard to tell, sometimes a dragon just disappears, sometimes their bodies are found and no one knows if it was an accident. If I had to guess, maybe one every ten years,” Fathom shrugged. “Very bad crashes are rare, and most of those would kill, not just break bones.”

Pryce sighed, then asked with a cautious air, “Did…did you ever want to…?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, I was not happy, but I could still fly well enough to challenge most,” Fathom said, flicking a wing dismissively.

“I see, that is…good,” Pryce said stiltedly, as if he was not sure how to respond to that answer. “Anyways, earlier today, why did you pause when I explained why I thought Jooral was strong?”

“...I did not think you noticed that,” Fathom rumbled. He was silent for a few more moments, then continued as if he had not stopped. “Your words made me think about what I did after I broke my wing, and I realized that I did not grow like Jooral; I did not…become better.”

“Oh,” Pryce said softly, and looked as if he wanted to say more, but could not find the words. “That isn't true, you learned how to fly differently with your wing bent, right?” he said, after a moment of silence.

“That's a very small thing," Fathom snorted dismissively. "Anyone could have done that."

They stood in silence, watching the daylight fade with the lowering sun.

“I have also been thinking about something else,” Fathom said without being prompted. “I should have left with Celeste, fourteen years ago. I gave myself reasons why I could not go, I told myself that Celeste was young, so she would not be challenged by other dragons if she were alone, but I really stayed because I was stubborn, because I wanted to prove that I could protect our territory, even if I knew I couldn’t.” He hung his head, and said in an uncharacteristically small voice, “I did not grow.”

Pryce sighed, and drew himself up. “Then that is good,” he said resolutely.

“What?” Fathom hissed, his head rearing up in offense.

“You’re still young for a dragon, you have lots of time to grow – literal centuries,” Pryce pressed. “Yeah, you made mistakes, but so what? Everyone makes mistakes, what are you going to do about it?”

“I…what are you…?” Fathom was bemused by the human’s uncharacteristic outburst, and he almost laughed as he realized what Pryce was doing. “I will do what I should, and not what I want. I will be stronger.”

“Good,” Pryce said, nodding in satisfaction.

They spent a few minutes watching the sunset in companionable silence. Fathom recalled how Pryce taught him what caused those brilliant colors in the sky, and felt a sense of private satisfaction at being the only dragon to know so much about the world – even more than any elder in all of history, now that he thought about it.

“You…are usually not so loud,” Fathom noted, breaking the silence.

“Oh, that,” Pryce said, rubbing his neck in a sheepish manner. “Didn’t you tell me to do what I wanted more often?”

“Hmph. Not what I meant, but close enough,” Fathom snorted in amusement, and gently nudged Pryce. “Thank you.”

Pryce smiled. “Anytime, my friend.”

[JOURNAL ENTRY]

Day 83,

So, dragons are apparently biologically immortal.

I guess it’s not that much more ridiculous than living for half a millennium, but it still bothers me. Traits like that don’t just evolve for no reason; there must have been some reason for it, but I can’t think of anything compelling. Maybe their biology is simply so robust that they functionally do not age? Like lobsters?

For the most part, evolution occurs at the scale of hundreds of thousands of years at minimum. Whatever generational knowledge that dragons pass on to their offspring doesn’t go back far enough to explain any of their evolutionary history. Fathom himself has no idea why dragons live so long – the Draconic word for aging means something more like ‘growing up’, and lacks the connotations we humans have.

Celeste has also informed me that the grey color Jooral and Ghorrah have is not technically due to their age, rather they simply don’t care enough to maintain their appearances by eating pigment-rich foods, so grey is actually a dragon’s natural color. That’s not to say there are no indicators of a dragon’s age – their scales actually become a little more opaque over time, making it more difficult for older dragons to maintain vivid colorations.

Fathom and I had a talk today, and I think he was more depressed by his malunion than he let on. I decided not to confront him about that – no point in digging up the past now that the problem is fixed.

I’m a bit more worried about Jooral, I wasn’t able to interpret how she took the news. I don’t think I made any unrealistic promises, it should be easily doable in less than ten years, assuming ideal circumstances.

P.S. Celeste took 10 minutes 21 seconds to hunt two animals that resembled giant hexapedal rodents with thick hide rather than fur – I estimate their masses to be around 60 to 100 kg each.