Blood of the Dragon

by Jay D Pearson

  England’s classic St. George and the Dragon story drastically changed during the reign of Edward III (1327-77), with the hero suddenly slaying a ferocious dragon. Prior to 1348, the dragon had been depicted as peaceful and intelligent. At this point, Edward appears to have deliberately altered the story in order for St. George to become the patron of the Order of the Garter, and to have attempted to destroy all known copies of the story in any other form. Was this a result of his vision of a “flame-haired woman” who told him to attack French forces, resulting in the great Battle of Crécy? The evidence is not as clear as with the Hongwu Emperor or Queen Margaret, but the ties between a red-headed woman and dragons cannot be denied.

  These are but three of the many world leaders between 1300-1650 who have been tied to either dragons or a red-headed woman—or even both. All rose to prominence and were known as benevolent or champions of the common man.

  As for all the tales of great heroes slaying dragons, such as St. George and the Dragon, it is believed by proponents of the one dragon theory that these date back to a time known as the Great Extinction. At some point, no later than 2000 BCE but likely much earlier, the great dragons of the Near East died out or disappeared until only a few survived. Tales of these dragons all trace back to China, India, and other lands of the Orient, brought back to Europe by the Crusaders, and none more recent than the time of Alexander the Great.

  However, new tales began to spring up about 1200-1300 CE. The earliest center around the legends of Thunderbird amongst the Pacific Coastal tribes of North America but had spread to China by the time of the Hongwu Emperor and to Europe by the mid fourteenth century. Always, they involved a single dragon, usually crimson with the ability to breathe fire. Gender is uncertain, but the earliest accounts speak of the dragon as a she.

  China, as the ancient home of the dragons, never ceased in portraying dragons as benevolent, but Western culture began to persecute those who believed dragons were not evil or hostile. This no doubt was why, outside of Ireland, the new tales of a single dragon suddenly dried up by the late 1500s. Most proponents of the single dragon theory believed the lone dragon died, but others claim she simply went into hiding. Meanwhile, tales of dragons as vicious, selfish, and hoarders of treasure have persisted to this day, as portrayed by Smaug in Tolkien’s The Hobbit.

  Recently, two women were brave enough to publish in favor of benevolent dragons, the first to do so in Western culture, even though they published their works as fiction: Ursula LeGuin and her Earthsea trilogy and then Anne McCaffery and her Dragonriders of Pern series. These books paved the way for not only other authors such as Christopher Paolini to write about sympathetic dragons, but for lone dragon proponents to “come out” in the academic and scientific communities.

  Finally, of course, are dragon sightings, which have become more frequent in the past 150 years. The first were in Ireland in 1849 at the same time the Great Potato Famine ended, resulting in many locals giving credit to dragons for ending the famine. More sightings quickly spread to the rest of the world, most notably in the United States. There were several reported on Washington State’s Olympic Peninsula, although none more recent than 1950, and it has long been thought that sightings of Thunderbird prior to the arrival of Europeans in the late 1700s may well have been one and the same. Singular incidents from Pennsylvania to New Mexico popped up as early as 1910. Interestingly, a spate of sightings in Arizona have occurred since 2000, nearly all centered around the Santa Catalina Mountains in Tucson, especially near Pusch Ridge. Several leading proponents have moved to the area, particularly scientists who are seeking to prove the dragon exists, and photos purported to be of a dragon have all supposedly been shown by the U.S. government to be some test plane or drone. It is unfortunate that all these photos have been taken at night; a clear daytime picture of a crimson “drone” would be much more difficult to discount!

  In conclusion, while evidence has proven as elusive to uncover as the search for the Loch Ness Monster or Sasquatch, the increasing preponderance of documentation, no matter how sketchy, can no longer be wholly discounted, except by the “wise.”

  ©2012 The Lone Dragon Society, Phoenix, AZ, USA. All rights reserved.

  Chapter 22

  The Boy

  “W

  ho’s the crackpot who wrote this, Aileen?” Eduardo called from the sofa, glancing over towards the kitchen table where Miguel and his girlfriend sat working on their homework.

  “I don’t know, Pops,” she answered. “It just says ‘The Lone Dragon Society,’ doesn’t it? My dad thought you and Maeve would find it interesting.”

  Miguel grimaced, just like every other time Aileen had addressed his parents so informally. His dad had laughed as soon as she’d called him ‘Pops’, the day she’d decided to ride the bus home with him a few weeks ago. That had been the day he’d realized she’d decided he was now her boyfriend. His mom had tried to correct her the first few times Aileen had dropped in but had long since given up on formality.

  His mom glided from the kitchen to the living room, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

  “What did you say about a dragon, dear?”

  Eduardo waved the small pamphlet with a fire-breathing, crimson dragon on the front. The picture looked like someone had badly Photoshopped Smaug from a poster for one of The Hobbit movies. His mom grabbed the pamphlet and started reading.

  “Where does your dad come up with these things, Aileen?” Eduardo asked. “Last time it was Sasquatch. Before that, it was the Secret Societies of Ireland.”

  Aileen shrugged. Miguel wanted to sigh. He could stare at her all day. Sometimes, when she caught him gawking with his mouth open and his eyes half glazed, she would hold his hand. That was usually the only time she let him do that. She certainly never allowed it at school, although at the last movie they’d gone to, she’d snuggled up to him as if it had been a romantic chick flick instead of the new Bourne movie.

  He was only half-listening to their discussion. Most of his mind was once more focused on figuring out some way to kiss her. More than three months had passed since Julieta’s birthday party, and the occasional hand holding was all his nerves—or Aileen—permitted.

  Javier called them the odd couple, and not just because of her collection of Megadeth t-shirts and penchant for black jewelry and nail polish. Burton Peña called him her puppy dog, or had until Aileen threatened to sick him on Burton, but he knew what Peña meant. Still, his girlfriend had glowered so fiercely, and his rival had turned so white that Burton now completely avoided him in the halls.

  That his friends had so quickly accepted her had surprised both of them. He’d expected it’d be just the two of them sitting at her corner table in the cafeteria during lunch, but within a week, not only Javier but half of band had joined them. Even girls, to the delight of the boys. One time, Aileen mentioned the flute was her favorite instrument because Jethro Tull played it and sang songs about elves and fairies. None of them had heard of the band before, but within a week, several had bought Songs from the Wood while the rest had donned Megadeth t-shirts. Within a month, he was better known as her boyfriend then as the boy who’d faced down Burton Peña.

  “Miguel!”

  Until she grabbed his hand, he wasn’t aware she was calling his name, ending his daydream about how romantic their first kiss would be.

  “Miguel!” she said sharply, if quietly.

  “I’m awake! I’m awake!” he said with a little shake of his head then met her eyes. She tilted her head towards his parents, clearly indicating he should look.

  His mom was still reading the dragon pamphlet, her mouth tight and lips curled in. He wondered what bothered her.

  “Maeve?” his dad asked. “You’re not taking any of that seriously, are you?”

  She did not answer but continued reading. They all watched in silence until she finally set the booklet down, crossed her arms, and faced Aileen.

  “Does your father belong to this Lone Dragon Society?
”

  “My father?” Aileen snorted. “Not unless he can control them, too.”

  “Aileen,” his mom said soothingly, “You know I don’t like you talking about your parents that way.”

  “Yeah, but I keep telling you, if you knew my dad, you’d understand.”

  “I’m sure your father is a very nice man. You’re too sweet of a girl to not have nice parents.”

  “Hmpf,” was Aileen’s only response. She crossed her arms and slouched. He almost sighed but caught himself. The two had this argument each time Aileen came over, which was now pretty much every day.

  “So, when do I get to meet your dad?” he asked quietly while his mom ranted about the dragon pamphlet and irresponsibility.

  “Pfft. Never, I hope. I wish your parents would adopt me.”

  “Oh, come on. Your mom’s really nice.”

  “Maybe if she had your mom’s backbone. She just does whatever my father tells her to do. Pathetic.”

  “Aileen!” he chastised. “She’s not pathetic!”

  She sighed heavily. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just that being here feels like a home should. I love hanging out and cooking with your mom. It’s way better than hiding in my room all day.”

  He nodded slowly, glancing over at his parents, smiling as he watched his dad hug his mom. Then he noticed how rigidly she returned his hug. She hadn’t looked so tense since the day after Christmas, that unnatural freeze, and his first lesson with Balor.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  One week earlier, the one-eyed man had been waiting for him, sitting on the same bench as always, one arm outstretched over the back, and still in his long black oilskin duster as if heat and cold meant nothing.

  Miguel sat on the far end of the bench where Balor’s arm didn’t reach. He might not fear the man any longer, but neither was there any sense of companionship. As a mentor, he was no coward like Mr. Matthews, but there was no hint of warmth like his principal, Mr. Sandoval. It was simply the strangest relationship he’d ever experienced.

  As soon as he leaned back, the air shifted and the bright Tucson sky turned periwinkle while the spring blooms on the acacia trees softened to a gentle cream.

  Like every other lesson, there was no preamble.

  “Joy,” said Balor, his raspy voice emotionless.

  He barely had to narrow his eyes as he focused. He only had to think briefly of his family and lightning was crackling on his fingertips. He let the power jump from one hand to the other for a few moments, then allowed it to fade away, feeling the magic as it flowed from his hand, up his arm, down his body, and out his feet into the ground.

  “You now control what our enemies have never learned: the freedom to let go, to not attack. Anger.”

  He was ready today. At the last lesson, he’d been confused by Balor’s tactic of suddenly announcing which emotion to reach for, and the man had slapped him with his magic. He’d complained, but Balor had simply warned him that enemies did not hesitate. This time, heat rolled out from him, scorching a narrow arc of grass.

  “Happiness.”

  He smiled. One thought of Aileen was all it took, but the blast was a wide swath, and the two nearest trees might have fallen over if Balor hadn’t intervened.

  “Hmmm,” was all the one-eyed man said.

  “Sorry,” he answered. Using Aileen as his focal point for happiness still brought out too much magic for him to effectively control, but everything else seemed too weak in comparison.

  Balor rose, pursing his lips. Miguel tried again, and this time succeeded in making a single tree shake.

  “I suppose you still can’t bring up any fire,” said Balor.

  He smiled, knowing that was as close to a compliment as he’d receive.

  “Interesting. I’d thought for sure you’d be able to by this time. Your magic is certainly different from anything I’d expected. You will surprise our enemies. They have had a very long time to prepare for your mother and me.”

  “What do you mean, Balor?”

  “There is no point for me to train you further. Practice whenever you can.”

  The world shifted and the pastel shades returned to their full color. There was no scorch mark on the grass, nor any other sign he’d used his magic. Balor still stood by the bench.

  “Prepare yourself, Miguel. I must go check on the prison and then see that all my family is ready. The next time we meet, you will learn the full truth.”

  There were no farewells with Balor. There never were. He simply turned and strode away with Miguel watching from the bench until the one-eyed man rounded a corner and stepped out of view.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Mom?” he asked tentatively. She still rigidly hugged his dad, staring at the dragon pamphlet where it lay on the back of the sofa.

  “Aileen, it’s time we met your parents.” Her tone brooked no argument.

  “Okay…” Aileen said slowly. “Well, next weekend our street is having a block party. It’s supposed to be a big BBQ and tamale fest. My mom wants to do it, and I suppose my dad might if I beg him.

  He wasn’t surprised that his girlfriend agreed, just that she gave in so quickly, and he glanced at her with his eyebrows raised.

  “Once you meet him, Miguel, you’ll understand why your house feels like home and mine doesn’t.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  By the time they pulled out of their driveway the following Saturday afternoon, blue-grey clouds filled the sky, cooling the air somewhat, especially for May.

  Not even on his first date with Aileen had he been this nervous. Well, ‘date’ was a rather strong word, he admitted. Meandering about the mall for a couple of hours was all they’d done, although he had paid for her ice cream. Since then, they’d only been allowed to go to two movies together as well as a school dance. Mostly they hung out during lunch in the cafeteria and after school in his kitchen. Even when his dad drove her home each night, she’d sit in the front seat while he plopped into the back, listening to her laugh at all his dad’s old jokes.

  Twice when they’d dropped her off, her mom had been tending the front yard. His dad, of course, had jumped out almost before the car had stopped to introduce himself. Miguel, on the other hand, just said hi and answered a couple of polite questions. She was as pretty as Aileen, but even more pale with long black hair tinged with grey surrounding large, tired dark eyes. He really didn’t see much family resemblance and supposed Aileen must have inherited most of her features from her dad.

  On both visits, her mom was smiling before they left. He grinned at the memory. Nobody could be around his dad for long and hold onto a sad face. That was the one thing that made this moment bearable, knowing that even though they knew no one except for Aileen and her mom, his dad would be friends with everyone two minutes after they arrived.

  Grandma Sabina had come over to stay with Carlos and Isabel. This block party invasion was awkward enough without dragging all three kids, although he was certain his brother would have quickly found at least one friend from school. His mom, however, had insisted only the three of them attend. He was certain her nerves were twitching as much as his and wondered why. He figured it had something to do with the pamphlets Aileen had brought over. He’d assumed her dad must’ve thought they were humorous, but his mom seemed to see something sinister, yet wouldn’t tell him what.

  The homes in Aileen’s neighborhood were smaller than in his and clustered close enough to brush each other’s teeth, as his mom said. The tile roofs all rose to the same height and the adobe walls seemed to be painted from one of three shades of beige. The streets were clean, however, with a smattering of palm trees, and most every yard was neatly—if simply—manicured.

  The entrance to Aileen’s street was blocked off, so they had to park several houses away. His mom handed him both loaves of warm soda bread to carry. Aileen had said not to bother bringing anything, but his parents had insisted on bringing something.

  “They certainly take pride in their neighb
orhood,” his dad said approvingly, although the words felt more like an attempt to fill up the dead space created by him and his mom. A mariachi trumpet drifted towards them, its sound made all the brighter by the dim clouds, as if holding back any threat of a rainstorm.

  Aileen’s street was packed with people, lawn chairs, and tent canopies. A row of tables ran the entire length of one side, seemingly as long as a soccer field. Each table was colorfully decorated and covered with chafing dishes filled with burgers, tamales, beans, bratwurst, tacos, and ribs. He could see smoke rising from the far end of the cul-de-sac, pouring out from at least a half-dozen smokers and grills. As they strolled closer, he spotted another three or four tables brimming with salads and yet more with desserts of all types.

  Little kids ran shouting and laughing, weaving through circles of chairs where adults lounged, smiling at the children’s antics and sharing pictures on their phones. Young teenagers strolled in small groups, the boys watching the girls and vice versa. He recognized many of them from school, but none he really knew.

  His nerves did not allow his eyes to focus long on the food or the people, but scanned every group, searching for any sign of Aileen.

  “…and this is my son, Miguel.” He’d been vaguely aware his dad was talking to someone, but hearing his name brought him back to the present. His parents were talking to a young couple, the dad holding a small baby while the mom rested a hand on an empty stroller. The man juggled the baby, then extended his free hand, which he shook.

  “Nice to meet you, Miguel. Do you know any of the kids here?”

  He nodded, glancing back towards one nearby group.

  “I go to school with them.”

  “Actually, Brent,” his dad said, “my son’s girlfriend invited us. Aileen Foley. Do you know the Foleys?”

  For a moment, both faces grew darker than the clouds overhead.

  “They’re an…interesting family,” the young wife said. “Mrs. Foley is very nice, the couple of times I’ve talked to her.”