Here Be Dragons: Book 1 of the Emergence Series

[JOURNAL ENTRY]

Day 89,

Not much to report today, we («I», according to Fathom) spent all day teaching the three of them more English. All three of them are learning quickly, though Celeste is unsurprisingly the fastest. Still, Fortitude doesn’t lag far behind, despite the age difference. Devotion has made the least progress out of the three, though I believe her lack of passion in the subject plays a bigger role here than her intelligence.

That’s not to say she has a complete lack of interest, but I believe she has been trying to learn my language “because she should” or “because it will be useful” rather than “because I want to.”

Fathom and I have decided to check up on the Horizon at least once per day, mostly for sake of mind than anything else.

[Day 90]

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MESSAGE START.

RESCUE SHIP DAYBREAK HAS DEPARTED FOR THE EASTERN COAST, 22.5 DEGREES N. ETA: MISSION DAY 100.

MESSAGE END.

Pryce didn’t need the table to decode the beginning and end of the message, familiar as they were to him.

This was happening. In ten days there would be more than one human on this island. It was frustrating how he could think of nothing to benefit their future prospects – he was already learning about dragons and teaching them English, but Pryce felt like there was something more that he could be doing, especially when all he was doing was clarifying a few words for Fathom here and there.

«Secrets are hard to keep,» Devotion had said. «The likelihood of a secret’s death depends on two things: the duration for which it must be kept, and the number of people who know the secret. Telling more people will reduce our own control of the situation, and so it must be avoided until we are as prepared as can be.»

This made a great deal of sense, but Pryce still wasn’t sure why the two hadn’t made more friends in their four hundred-plus years of life.

«Most dragons are either daunted by her or they want to trade things for my art. Usually both,» Fortitude had explained while gesturing to her partner. «It is difficult to make friends when you have more power than them, and it is not like I have ever needed anyone else in my life.»

So, there was really nothing much for him to do, other than what he was already doing. Pryce opened up his notebook with the intent of recording what he knew of draconic culture, but his mind kept drifting back to the message he had received.

Daybreak. It was a fitting name for something that meant to seek the Horizon.

“The rescue ship has left the Mainland,” Pryce told Fathom when the dragon woke up. “It's been named the Daybreak.”

“You…don’t sound happy,” Fathom noted, blinking drowsily as he rose.

“Did something bad happen?” Celeste asked, tilting her head.

“No, it’s just…” Pryce trailed off, sighing. “I’m not looking forward to telling everyone about what happened to our friends.”

Fathom rumbling in thought for a few moments. “I could tell them instead, but I don’t think you want that.”

“No, I don’t,” Pryce said, shaking his head emphatically. “It’s my responsibility. I won’t hide from that.”

“I thought so,” Fathom said as he stood up with a stretch. “Well, if they are your friends then they should understand that it’s not your fault.”

“Maybe,” Pryce shrugged. “Before we left the Mainland, we did a lot of training in preparation for this mission. The best people to send on a rescue mission would be others who did the same training, but weren’t chosen for one reason or another.”

“So you’re saying that the people on the rescue ship spent time with the people on your ship,” Fathom said.

“Yeah. We were all…okay, maybe not all of us were friends, but we respected each other.”

«If you respect each other, then why are you worried about their reaction?» Celeste asked, returning to the language she knew best.

“I’m not exactly worried, it’s more that I don’t know how to tell them,” Pryce said, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “Everyone understood the risk we took, but…where do I even begin?”

To be honest, he was quite worried about how the crew would process all the information he was going to throw at them. He couldn’t imagine dropping in on Fathom and saying “Hey everyone, long time no see, turns out this island is inhabited by sapient dragons, a few of which I’ve befriended. Oh and by the way everyone else who was on the Horizon died before the ship even made landfall.”

Fathom narrowed his eyes a little. “Based on what you’ve told me, wouldn’t the first question they ask be about your friends?”

“Depends on how we meet,” Pryce sighed. “If we meet them first then they’re probably going to have questions about you.”

“There is no good way,” Celeste said once she had understood their conversation. “Just…tell them.”

“Easier said than done,” Pryce grumbled.

Fathom shifted his wings in a shrug. “You don’t have to worry about anyone blaming you for what happened,” he said, his jaws parted in a smile.

Pryce raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Because if they do, I’m going to hold them upside down until they change their minds.”

Pryce snorted, failing to stifle a laugh as he imagined such a scene. Then he paused. “That was a joke, right?”

Fathom turned away, neglecting to elaborate. “Maybe? I can’t hear you, busy hunting,” he said, his toothy grin widening as he left the cave.

Pryce frowned. He supposed he’d deserved that.

“Do not…be sad?” Celeste said, probably meaning “Do not worry”. “He will not do that,” she reassured, and flashed him a similar smile before she left to follow her father.

Somewhere outside Fathom let out an irritated chuff. «You ruined my fun.»

«Think of it as payback for what you did with that eel when I was two.»

«Of course you remember that,» Fathom chuffed, and Pryce rolled his eyes as they leapt into the skies, squabbling all the while.

[JOURNAL ENTRY]

Day 90,

Rescue ship “Daybreak” has officially set sail. I’m not sure how I’m going to break the news to the crew.

When I did my residency I was always told to break the bad news first if there was nothing the patient could do, but if recovery was feasible then I was told to do the opposite – to give them hope and a reason to pursue it.

This situation definitely falls into the second camp, but (even ignoring the morality of doing so) I can’t see any way to avoid mentioning the whereabouts of the rest of the crew. Providing information on a need-to-know basis won’t work either; damn near everything counts as need-to-know.

Guess I’ll just have to wing it.

In current matters, English classes continue.

A few more days and they should be able to talk about most topics without his help, so things are going well on that front.

Fathom and Celeste decided to hold another competition. The former went first, and hunted a pair of brownish hexapedal lizards with black rings along its body. I’m told they don’t affect a dragon’s pigmentation, so they’re considered somewhat common creatures.

Time spent: 9 minutes 31 seconds.

[JOURNAL ENTRY]

Day 91,

Devotion visited her neighbors today, and she hasn’t heard anything out of the ordinary, so that’s a good sign. Hopefully Trespasser didn’t tell anyone about what he witnessed, and is currently very confused by the disappearance of the Horizon.

In other news, Celeste went hunting and managed to obtain two creatures who resembled very large rodents. They were notably tetrapodal – unlike most creatures on this island – and fairly mundane in their appearance. I’m not surprised that life would chance upon similar solutions for (relatively) similar niches – I imagine these creatures are some sort of omnivore, and serve a similar role to a bear.

Time spent: 9 minutes 50 seconds.

«Nineteen seconds,» Fathom had said. I never thought a number could sound so smug.

[JOURNAL ENTRY]

Day 92,

Nothing particularly notable happened today, except at the end of the day – Fortitude said she would show me something very interesting tomorrow, though she refused to elaborate on what exactly this would be.

I’m honestly not sure if she thinks she’s following human customs or if she’s just trying to get some payback for making her wait. It’s probably both.

It has to be something about her craft, so I suspect she’s going to show me how she makes clay pottery or how she was able to melt gold into those horn-rings of hers.

[Day 93]

Fathom slid open an eye to see Pryce standing over him.

“Hmmm?” he rumbled, the drowsy interrogative needing no proper pronunciation.

“Are you awake?” Pryce inquired.

“I am now,” Fathom grumbled irritably, still half asleep. Judging by the color of the sky it was still what humans called ‘twilight’. Why did they have so many words for specific things? Why not just call it almost-morning, like any sensible person would? “Stupid words,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Too early,” Fathom grumbled as he slid his eyes back shut. “Sleep more.”

“It’s not that early.”

“If we go this early, you would make Devotion angry.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll wait,” Pryce sighed, throwing his hands up as he sat back down on his sleeping bag.

“Do you think you’ll be safe here?” Fathom asked, casting a doubtful eye at Fortitude. He and Celeste were about to go hunting after a morning of English lessons, and Devotion had already left.

«Of course I will not let him get hurt; I am not stupid,» she said, snorting in derision. She could understand most sentences now, though of course she preferred to speak in her native tongue.

“I’ll be fine,” Pryce said, feeling rather coddled. He appreciated the concern but Fortitude would be less inclined to show her secrets with Fathom quite literally hovering over his shoulder, and Pryce had been dying all morning to know what she wanted to show him.

It took a minute, but Fathom was eventually convinced to leave, grumbling all the while.

“Are you going to show me now?” Pryce asked.

«I suppose I have made you wait long enough,» Fortitude said, her jaws parted in a smile. “Yes. But first you promise…not tell other dragons what I tell you.”

“I promise not to tell other dragons about what you will show me,” Pryce swore.

Fortitude nodded, then turned away. “Good. Follow me.”

“Aren’t we supposed to do that hand-thing?” Pryce asked, jogging in order to catch up to her.

“Yes, but you are too small. Hand-thing looks stupid.”

She led him a few dozen meters into the nearby forest, where Pryce noticed strange shapes sticking out of the tree trunks, which upon closer inspection were prodigiously sized clam shells.

“I use shells like this to get tree-blood,” Fortitude said, pulling a shell free and emptying its contents into a clay pot. It seemed she had already harvested all the others earlier, and had only saved this one to serve as a demonstration. She carried this pot back, hobbling on three limbs and one wing-palm for balance.

She led him a short distance away into a secluded cave. Pryce squinted in the dark, and when his eyes adjusted he saw that all corners of the cavern were lined with dozens of works of pottery. The majority had an orange, bumpy texture like the one Fortitude had carried. Another group were mostly brown, but had a glossy sheen to it. Of the latter type, there were a few that seemed to have varying degrees of the glossy translucence seen in modern pottery. Almost all of them had some sort of design etched upon their surface; geometric patterns, symbols, and icons decorated the faces of these containers, while a few depicted dragons and other native inhabitants of this island.

“Amazing,” Pryce breathed, awed by literal centuries of work before him. “Can I touch one of these pots?” He asked, holding a hand out mid-extension.

Fortitude rumbled, a deep and uncertain noise. “Why? Humans have pots too.”

“Would you want to touch and see human clay pots?”

“...Yes.”

“Maybe one day you can see them,” Pryce chuckled, then paused in realization. “Actually, I can show you some small ones later today. Remind me to do that.”

Fortitude’s eyes lit up, and she seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, “If you are very careful, you can touch this one,” she said, gesturing to a small, but pretty pot – one of the glossier ones. “I tried many years to make pots shiny…erhm…” she made an annoyed sound, and explained in Draconic, «It takes much effort just to make one pot, and whenever I try something different the result is usually worse, sometimes different, and very rarely better.»

“Understood,” Pryce said. Like always, he couldn’t understand all of what she said, but he comprehended enough to get the gist of her words. Reaching out, he gently brushed a finger against the hard, slightly uneven surface. The material itself was somewhat crude and a little ugly, but its meticulous design belied the skill Fortitude had honed through centuries of trial-and-error research.

“This really is amazing,” Pryce said, aware he was repeating himself. “How do you make this red color?” he asked, inspecting the pot’s simplistic yet aesthetically pleasing geometric patterns. It seemed to be similar to the red wooden dragon she had shown him days ago, albeit darker. If he had to guess, it was probably the same pigment applied through a different method, seeing as it appeared to be underneath the glaze.

“I make a big fire, wait for big fire to almost die, then I put a metal pot with tree branches inside on almost dead fire. Tree branches dry, and I crush to make something like red sand,” she explained. “If I add water, red sand becomes red water that I can use.”

“I’m surprised you’re telling me all this, even if you made me promise,” Pryce said.

“I am trusting you to you heal me, these things are much less important,” Fortitude said, shrugging a wing dismissively. “I have also not told you the details, so you can tell Fathom we talked about making things if you want.”

“That makes sense. Can you show me the metal pot?” he asked eagerly.

Fortitude’s iron pot was about what Pryce expected, a simple, crude-but-effective cast-iron pot, about the size of a large bowl.

Pryce frowned at the object, and wondered how on earth Fortitude could have made this. She might be able to use clay as a crucible, but wood fire didn’t burn hot enough to melt iron, and even charcoal required a fairly sophisticated furnace. Hydrogen burned more than hot enough, but he wasn’t sure if dragons had enough of it to melt any significant amount of iron. Could she have used coal?

“How did you make this?” he asked, deeply impressed. “You’d probably need to have dug a pit, and then…”

“Pit?” Fortitude asked blankly.

“A pit is a…hole in the ground?” Pryce tried.

“...Hole?”

“Um…low, round thing in the ground?” Pryce said, gesturing awkwardly. He really wasn’t sure how to describe such a thing without an example.

Regardless, Fortitude seemed to understand. “Yes. I make tall thing with stone and mud over pit, make fire with half-burnt wood or blackstone, melt small pieces of iron in clay pot, then give it shape with rock. I fail many, many times to make this,” she added, shuddering as she recalled those unsuccessful attempts. “Gold ring and clay pot is made in a similar way, but still different. Need to use bigger or smaller fire for different amounts of time.”

Pryce grimaced, glancing at the deceptively unimpressive container. “I believe you. It took humans thousands of years to make metal tools like this, but you did it yourself. Very impressive.” He was pretty sure the ‘tall thing’ she mentioned was a furnace, half-burnt wood was just charcoal, and ‘blackstone’ could only be coal.

Fortitude seemed to enjoy this praise, though he thought he saw her spines falter a little before returning to their normal position.

“Can you show me human pottery now?” she asked. “I can go with you to the place you sleep.”

Pryce opened his mouth to say that it would be easier if he went with Fathom, but closed it as he realized that might be insulting. “Yes, I can show you the one I have where I sleep.”

It would only be a short walk, maybe ten minutes. If he were alone then he would have never considered such a thing, but Fortitude’s presence made the threat of any local predators a non-issue. This resulted in an unexpected opportunity to observe the environment from the ground for once. The local flora, though foreign, did not appear completely alien. After all, a shrub or a tree could only be so different, though they occasionally come across very odd plants.

That wasn’t to say there were no oddities. One such plant greatly resembled a pitcher, and a closer inspection revealed a surprising amount of water-like liquid inside of it.

“You…move like a hatchling,” Fortitude rumbled, her eyes narrowed in amusement. “This plant eats bugs, but you can drink this water.” She paused for thought, then amended, “dragons can drink this water. You maybe get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to drink weird plant water,” Pryce chuckled.

“Good,” she said, then nodded towards another strange plant. “This plant is sweet.”

“Sweet?” Pryce asked, momentarily bemused by the dragon’s usage of youthful slang. The shrub in question had a large base that supported an odd structure that almost resembled an elongated tongue, except it was half a meter tall with odd dew-tipped hairs jutting out the sides of the “tongue”.

“This plant also eat bugs, it…go like this,” Fortitude said, and demonstrated by licking dew off the plant. Pryce blinked in surprise as the plant immediately began to curl in on itself with surprising alacrity. Under normal circumstances it might have trapped an unsuspecting insect, but the predatory plant’s efforts were currently in vain.

“Oh, the water on the plant is sweet,” Pryce said in realization. That must be how it attracted its prey. It made sense, but it was still bizarre to see a plant move so quickly. He doubted this would pose a threat to anyone, but it did make him wonder if there were any plants that he should watch out for.

“Move now,” Fortitude said impatiently, nudging him towards the camp.

“Alright, alright,” Pryce chuckled, and they resumed their trip.

Another few minutes Pryce sat in his campsite, with Fortitude peering curiously over his shoulder as he dug through his belongings.

“Here it is,” Pryce said, holding a cup up for Fortitude’s perusal. He had never quite liked drinking out of canteens, which was why he’d brought this ceramic mug with him. To him, it was the plainest cup imaginable, but to Fortitude…

“No…markings, and so white,” she said, an indecipherable expression on her face. “...this is a tool, not art…but it is still more beautiful than any art I have made.”

Pryce wasn’t sure what to say in response to that.

Fortitude continued, evidently not expecting an answer. “If you have things like this, then why do you think my art is…amazing?” Fortitude asked, eyeing him intently. It didn’t show in her tone, but Pryce thought her eyes had a forlorn quality to them.

Pryce pressed his lips together and took a few moments to formulate his response. “Why are things beautiful?” he asked.

Fortitude cocked her head, confused by the apparent non-sequitur. “Things are beautiful because they are beautiful. That is obvious.”

“Maybe, but I think one reason why things are beautiful is because they are rare, does that make sense?”

Fortitude rumbled doubtfully as she considered this. “No, if something is ugly and rare then it is useless.”

“True,” Pryce chuckled, “but what if shiny things were very common? Would you like them less?”

She paused, thinking for longer this time. “I would still think they are beautiful, but…yes, I would not want them as much,” she admitted. “Why are you asking about this?”

“These cups are very common,” Pryce said, gesturing to the item in her taloned hands. “But the things you make are the only ones that exist in this world.”

“Exist?”

“Sorry, that means ‘thing that someone can touch and see’,” he explained.

Fortitude blinked, and hummed in thought. “You think the things I create are beautiful, even if humans can make things that are much better?”

“Of course. You know, most humans don’t really discover new things.” Fortitude blinked, then tilted her head in thought. “Almost all of the things we know how to do we learned from others, but you’re different. It took humans thousands of years to do what you’ve done in only a few hundred.”

Fortitude said nothing, and only sat down on her haunches to stare at the white mug, “If another dragon could make something like this, she would…laugh at me.” Pryce looked blank, so she added, “Laugh is the thing you do when you think something is funny.”

“Oh, that’s ‘laugh’,” Pryce said with a frown. “And that’s…not nice.”

“I mean it is…natural for that to happen. I would do the same,” Fortitude said, shrugging candidly. “So I do not understand why you are like this.”

Pryce rubbed his chin and decided to try a metaphor. “...where you can fly is not as important as how fast you can fly. Does that make sense?”

“...I can not fly,” Fortitude said drily, then chortled in laughter when Pryce made an awkward, sputtering explanation. “That is a joke. I know what you want to say.”

“Funny,” Pryce sighed, too relieved to be that she hadn’t taken offense to be annoyed.

Fortitude let out a few more chuckles before falling silent. She turned her head up to eye him thoughtfully. “You value things that people learn alone?”

“...yes,” Pryce said after a moment’s thought.

“But humans learn things from others. Do you not value this?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion.

“I value both,” Pryce clarified, then frowned as he considered how to word his response. “But I respect those who are the first to discover things, and teach it to others.”

“I understand,” Fortitude nodded, then turned to look at the sun. “I also like making things, because I was the first to make things like I did – because I thought I was the first,” she clarified. “But if I learn how humans make these, then I can use what I know, and make new discoveries no one under the sun has found.” She said this with the air of a declaration, but not without side-eyeing Pryce to see how this would be received.

Pryce grinned. “I think that’s a beautiful idea.”

[JOURNAL ENTRY]

Day 93,

It’s not every day you get to learn about the technology of another species. It was really something to see what a single individual could do with centuries of hard work.

Fathom asked me about what Fortitude and I discussed today. I told him that I couldn’t tell him since I made a promise, which made him a bit grumpy. I could have told him, since Fortitude herself gave permission, but I’d rather not break my promises outside of extremis.

That didn’t stop him from guessing, though, especially when he saw things had been moved in our camp. Interestingly, he wasn’t able to pick up on Fortitude’s scent. I suppose that means a dragon’s sense of smell isn’t quite as keen as their other senses.