Chapter 19
- Vyrathion -
Morgan begins that cycle which she calls sleep. Her breath is calm and she goes still.
I watch her for a while, despite the darkening hut.
What a strange thing she is. Often so scared her whole body trembles, sometimes so reckless it seems like she wants to die.
She smiles and she makes faces and she talks to me in a way that no lesser being should ever dare.
And those things she says! So strange, so surreal, and yet so ensnaring that I can’t help but play along.
Very strange things are happening here. I’m staying here with her. On an island that keeps her here, but which doesn’t limit me in any way.
I get up and walk out. The jungle is darkening fast.
My pants have dried, which I expected, so I pull them on. Morgan’s ludicrous dress is still damp, but I suspect it won’t get any drier right here, where water drips from the trees above.
I take it and hang it inside the hut instead, which I made so as to only allow the tiniest amount of water to drip through its structure.
I briefly consider walking over to the disappointingly gold-less tribe and steal more food from them, but they will be on their guard now that they know I’m nearby. It might be unwise to enter that village again. I’d prefer to not lose more ichor.
I wander along the bank of the river, looking down into the dark water and hoping to see the glimmer of gold among the sand and mud. But I did the same last night too, and there was nothing of interest.
Instead I pick some fruits that I select carefully, avoiding the bitter ones she dislikes.
Halfway through, I stop.
Why do I know which fruits she dislikes?
I shake it off me and set them outside the hut. Then I lean on a tree, imagine that I’m in my lair, lying on top of my hoard and pass the time that way.
When Morgan wakes up and crawls out, she’s wearing her dress. She rubs her eyes. “Mm. I can’t remember the last time I slept so well. You don’t know what you’re missing, Vyrathion.”
“Indeed I have never been unconscious,” I reply. “It appears a total waste of life, especially in such a short-lived species. I will last for centuries, and I haven’t wasted a minute of it.”
She sits down by the fruits, which I have supplemented with some nuts and berries that I noticed her liking. “Good for you. I actually kind of like it. Sometimes I have cool dreams.”
“The dreams of being a dragon,” I sigh. “Yes, I have heard of that. As a dragon, I have nothing higher to aspire to, to dream of. I am the pinnacle, and it is just as glorious as you think. Well, it is when I’m not stuck on a mud planet like this.”
“I don’t usually dream about being a dragon,” Morgan says, juice running down her chin.
“Just now I was back on Earth, with my friend and grandmother, searching a house that had just become haunted. But it wasn’t - it was just a Navy crew having an exercise in the kitchen.
Their slingshots sounded like ghosts. Of course I’d known that all along. ”
I frown at her. “Did you enchant yourself again? You speak as if you’re still unconscious.”
“No, no,” she assures me. “I’m fine. I’m always this disconnected in the morning. Thanks for the breakfast. It’s delicious.”
“Someone has to feed you,” I growl. “And I suppose it has to be me, if I ever expect you to do anything useful for me.”
“Is that why?” she asks, looking at me with eyes that are clear and innocent. “Is that the only reason?”
“Don’t inquire into the reasons of dragons,” I warn her, having wondered the same thing myself. “Nothing good comes from that.”
For a while I watch Morgan sit in the morning sun, eating fruit and talking nonsense.
I find the sound oddly pleasant.
Then I realize I have been listening rather than merely tolerating it.
And I don’t mind that as much as I should.
She suddenly stops chewing and looks up. “Do you feel anything? Like a sudden terror?”
“There’s nothing on this planet to make me feel that-” I look up, too. There is the only thing that could be a danger to me - another dragon. And this is a full dragon soaring lazily above, a shadow against the sky.
“I think it’s Praxigor,” Morgan whispers as she draws closer to me.
Of course. Praxigor the dragon from Morgan’s tribe. In his full dragon form. And me in this pitiful body!
“Perhaps he’s coming from his hoard, or going to it,” I speculate.
But no. He turns and then spirals slower, floating on his mighty wings. He knows we’re here.
“He’s here to kill me,” I realize. “And it will be an easy kill. I recommend you stay at a distance. He may use the flame.”
But Morgan takes my hand and stays where she is. “I don’t think that will happen.”
Praxigor comes zooming along the river, so fast and low there’s a wake on the surface. As he approaches, he beats his wings once and stops to hover right above us.
Ah. You’re Morgan, yes? He speaks right into our minds in the way of full dragons. How I envy him that powerful form!
“That’s right,” Morgan replies. “And you’re Praxigor, Astrid’s husband.”
I chuckle in delight at her daring, naming a dragon not by himself or his reputation, but by his wife. As an insult, it’s near impossible to take offence at.
Correct. She asked me to find you and see that you’re alive. You appear to be. Is this dragon in his weakest form being a nuisance to you?
“You can tell her I’m fine,” Morgan says. “And that Vyrathion is a friend and not to be feared.”
A dragon not to be feared, Praxigor ponders. Curious. But yes, I see what you mean. He is a pitiful sort of dragon.
Fury rises in me. “I will steal your hoard, Praxigor the Poor!”
He laughs. I think you’ll find that unexpectedly hard. She loves me, you see. He beats his wings again, sending a hard wind over us as he soars into the air.
“Tell Astrid there may be other Earth girls in the jungle!” Morgan yells up to him as the wind blows her hair behind her.
Praxigor rises fast, turns while the sun glints off his scales and then, with a flick of his flowing tail, disappears out of sight.
Envy twists through me. That is what a dragon should be. Vast. Powerful. Untouchable. Praxigor crossed half the jungle in moments, spoke mind-to-mind across the sky and looked down on the world as dragons were meant to.
And me? I stand ankle-deep in mud, wearing laundered pants and preparing fruit for a female.
“That went better than expected,” Morgan says as she breathes out. “I thought he was going to burn us both.”
“It’s highly suspicious that he didn’t at least burn me,” I growl. “He didn’t even try.”
She loves me, you see. The words linger after he's gone. Not the claim. Dragons claim many things. It’s the certainty that bothers me.
“Astrid must have told him to not hurt you,” Morgan says. “It’s actually really hard to get Praxigor to do anything at all, even for her. She must have been really wanting him to find me and check on me.”
One more day. That is what I told myself yesterday. One more day of rest. One more day with Morgan. One more day before I resumed the search.
And now Praxigor has found us. Another dragon has seen what I have become.
No. Enough.
“How wonderful to have such caring friends,” I snarl. “That they won’t murder your allies. But I’ve tarried too long on this blasted island. Now we’re leaving. If there’s a speck of gold anywhere in this jungle, I’m going to find it!”
Morgan sighs. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”
“Hurry,” I tell her as I seek out a suitable tree. Finding one, I grab its trunk and using all my might pull it out of the ground. I carry it to where the river is at its narrowest and put it across, so that Morgan may cross.
Morgan adjusts her dress and gathers her hair in the back, tying it with a piece of green bark. “Which way are we going?”
“First across,” I tell her. “Then straight ahead- oh, those again.”
On the other side of the new ‘bridge’, the misshapen Plood and his friends are gathering, hands full of useless offerings. The small one waddles along the bank and stands still, staring into the water.
“The monster!” Morgan says and points.
Indeed the river creature is back, clearly visible in the clear stream. Fins flare and tentacles flex, studded with spikes and hooks. It lifts its head and stares at us with its three big, crusted eyes. It’s close enough that it may cause some trouble. But right now, I’m too frustrated to wait.
I grab Morgan’s hand. “Come.” I lead her over to the tree and put one foot on the trunk. This tree isn’t as steady as the other one, and it tends to roll a bit. But that’s less important now - the only thing is to start searching for gold again.
Morgan resists. “That monster is really close now.”
She’s right. The current is bringing it closer by the moment.
“Then we will cross now,” I decide and push Morgan onto the tree trunk ahead of me. “Go.”
“But the monster!” she protests.
“It’s not moving,” I tell her, and it’s true. I would have expected it to raise some tentacles and at least get ready for an attack, but it’s not doing anything.
Morgan runs across the ‘bridge’ and arrives on the other side. I stop midway over. The monster still isn’t moving, just drifting as if dead, eyes stiffly focused on the little Plood.
I shrug and get to the other side.
Only then does the monster stir. It reaches its tentacles out of the water and stretch them out towards us, but I push Morgan further in from the bank and the monster has to withdraw.
“Curious,” I ponder. “It must have known its only chance was to strike while we were on the bridge.”
“He must be afraid of you,” Morgan suggests. “Maybe he smartened up.”
I nod. “That must be it. Very well, we shall continue-”
The Plood surround us and hold out their offerings.
“Check on that,” I command her. “This many Plood may accidentally have brought something useful.”