Voices of Dragons

by Carrie Vaughn

  It didn’t really feel different. They hadn’t done any more than kiss good night.

  Kay decided to pretend that she didn’t know what Tam was talking about. “Done what?”

  Tam rolled her eyes in disgust. “Come on, you know. You’ve been going out with Jon for like a month. Have you slept with him yet?”

  “Oh, I thought maybe you were talking about math homework,” Kay said, grinning because she knew that would infuriate Tam.

  Tam huffed and stomped her foot. “I’ve been dying to talk to you about it.”

  “Ah, so that’s why you’ve been so anxious for me to get a boyfriend.”

  “Kay, come on. It’s not normal. You’re supposed to, you know…want to.”

  Was she? She supposed so. “Can’t you find someone else to talk to about sex?”

  “Sure. Like, everybody. Everybody except you.”

  It was true. Out of the corner of her eye Kay spotted three couples walking hand in hand. One of those stopped to kiss. She never knew whether to believe all the rumors about how far who had gotten with whom. Tam was right, though. Sometimes it seemed like it was everyone but her.

  “You’re a junior in high school. You’re way too old to be a virgin,” Tam said.

  Kay stared. “Seventeen is not too old to be a virgin.”

  “Whatever.”

  “We’re taking it slow,” Kay said. Tam just huffed in irritation again. That made Kay frustrated. This was supposed to be about her, not what Tam or anyone else thought. “What’s the big deal? Why do you even care whether or not we’ve slept together? It’s none of your business.”

  Tam looked hurt, and Kay realized she’d spoken more harshly than she’d meant to. But she didn’t apologize. She bit her lip and wouldn’t look at Tam.

  “Don’t get angry,” Tam said, shrugging, brushing it off. “You can do whatever you want to.”

  “Then why do you keep asking me about it?” Kay said under her breath.

  “Because I’m worried about you.”

  “Well, don’t be,” Kay said. “I’m normal. I’m perfectly normal.” She didn’t sound all that convinced.

  “Are you sure about that?” Tam shot back.

  Kay wasn’t sure—because she wasn’t normal. Normal people weren’t friends with dragons—and were she and Artegal really friends?

  “I’m a little stressed out right now,” Kay said, sighing. “That’s all.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  The whole story ran to the tip of her tongue. She’d say, Can you keep a secret? Then everything would come out. Tam had never blown a secret Kay had told her. And Tam must have known something was up, the way Kay looked at her, her lips parted, her gaze pleading. Kay almost told her everything.

  Then she shook her head and looked away, because this was way too big. Kay breaking the law by crossing the border was one thing, but asking Tam to break the law by keeping a secret? She’d keep the secret, Kay believed. But Kay didn’t want to get her in that much trouble. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

  Tam lowered her voice to a sly whisper. “You’re stressed out because you’re not sleeping with Jon. That’ll clear it right up, I bet.”

  “Jeez, Tam, give it a rest!” Kay slammed shut her locker door.

  “I’m just trying to help!”

  Thankfully, the bell rang, and they couldn’t argue anymore. They walked side by side to first-period chemistry and pretended the conversation never happened.

  As usual, Kay sat at lunch with Tam, Carson, and Jon. As usual, Tam and Carson greeted each other with a long, enthusiastic kiss. These moments, which had been merely annoying before, had become uncomfortable with Jon sitting next her, and she and Jon sort of being together. She could only glance surreptitiously at Jon and wonder if he wanted her to kiss him like that, out here in front of everyone. She felt his warmth next to her. She’d have to move only half an inch to be touching him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him glance at her, then look away, blushing.

  “Hey, get a room,” he finally said, turning a lopsided grin. Tam and Carson gave each other one of those sly looks that suggested they were way ahead of Jon and thinking hard about that room. Or maybe they’d already been there. Kay had heard stories about the janitor’s closet.

  After lunch, Kay and Jon left the cafeteria together.

  “You okay?” Jon said. “You’re kind of quiet.”

  She shrugged, not sure how much she wanted to say. Here she was, not able to talk to Tam or Jon. “Tam and I kind of had an argument. She seems to think that two people who are going out should carry on just like them. She can’t understand why we don’t.”

  “I guess you guys talk about everything,” he said.

  She thought of everything they didn’t talk about. They never talked about Tam’s mother’s boyfriends. Tam would just give her trademark huff and shake her head whenever Kay asked. Until last year, when Tam starting dating Carson, they’d talked about boys all the time—who liked who and what they were going to do about it. But now, they never really talked. Once, she’d asked Tam what sex was like, really. Tam had said, with a sly grin, “You’ll just have to find out.”

  She said to Jon, “Not really.”

  They slowly walked a few more steps down the hall, putting off when they’d have to arrive at class.

  “Sometimes I wonder if they get tired of it. Seems like all they ever do is make out,” Jon said.

  “According to Tam it’s the best thing in the world and everybody should do it. All the time.”

  “I think I’d rather go out with someone who likes to ski every now and then.”

  “Really?”

  Maybe, Kay thought, there is something to this relationship stuff. On a whim—no, not really on a whim, because she wanted to try it, to see what it was like—she let her arm brush his and let their hands meet, then close together. Just like that, they were walking hand in hand down the hall at school. His hand was warm, dry. He didn’t squeeze. Just let their fingers lace together. She didn’t want to cling to him, and maybe he felt the same way. He was a few inches taller, but she had to bend her elbow only a little. They’d held hands before, helping each other up a rock face or across a creek on a hike. But nothing like this. Kay found herself worried that she was doing it wrong.

  But Jon smiled a kind of thin, distracted smile. He glanced at her for a second and didn’t say anything. Just kept walking with his hand in hers. And it felt good.

  7

  On clear days in January, Kay continued hiking out to see Artegal. It didn’t occur to her not to. Snow and cold were tiny obstacles, when she could bundle up. Because of the cold, she couldn’t stay long, but the dragon would have lingered all day, nestled in the snow, his tail sweeping back and forth through drifts.

  The creek was frozen now. Kay could walk across it if she was careful. Instead of sitting while she waited for him, she paced to keep warm. This day was one of the sunny ones, and the light gleamed, sparkling like crystals off snow-covered ground, and snow-dusted branches.

  The distant peaks in the interior of Dragon never had snow on them. Warmed from the fires of dragon lairs within, the snow melted.

  She hadn’t been waiting long when he arrived. She recognized the sound of trees creaking, as if in a wind. Especially today, when no breeze blew. He came into view, gunmetal gray against the snowy world, and settled on his forelimbs, bringing himself closer to her. The light in his onyx eyes blazed.

  “Hi,” she said.

  His lip curled. “Wanted to show you this,” he said, and opened a foreclaw, offering her an object. She hadn’t noticed that he’d held his claws tightly shut. “Belonged to my mentor. It’s human.” He sounded excited.

  It was a book, and for a moment she was horrified. It looked ancient, bound in brown leather, worn and stained, with tarnished metal fixtures on the spine and corners, and here it was in the outdoors, in cold and snow. It was maybe the size of one of her schoolbooks, and she wondered how a large drago
n could handle something so small. Artegal’s claws worked like pincers, setting it in her hands. Once she had it, he tucked his arm back to his side. She hardly noticed how comfortable she’d become around him; she hardly noticed his size and no longer thought of his claws and teeth as weapons that could tear into her. He was just Artegal, who liked to talk about books.

  The book was heavy and seemed fragile. Somehow, it had survived time and being carried in the claws of a dragon.

  “How old is it?” she said.

  “Centuries.”

  That didn’t sound ridiculous spoken in the growling voice of a dragon.

  “It should be in a museum,” she murmured, running skittering fingers over the cover. Tiny dimples from the animal’s hair were still visible in the leather. She’d seen pictures of books like this in history class.

  “Has been safe, dry, and cool, in dragon caves,” he said. “I brought it when I was sure you would understand. Look inside.”

  His trust in her made her pause a moment, overcome. This was an honor, and she was flattered. After the lump in her throat faded, she opened the book to the middle.

  Dense, black writing covered thick parchment pages. Vivid drawings looped around the borders of each page. Vines, multicolored flowers, large letters touched with gold. Figures stood here and there among the foliage: dragons—silver, red, mottled green and brown, black—their tails looping and tangling around themselves and other tails in knots, long necks stretching over letters, around corners, fire twining from pointed mouths. And with them, people. Women in tight-fitting gowns, men in brightly colored tunics. Sheltered by the bodies of those huge beasts, resting their hands on lowered snouts, touching the tip of a raised wing. Perched on their backs, even. People, riding dragons.

  She couldn’t read the text. The writing was strange; so was the language. But she could make out the first word on the first page, an obvious title written large: Dracopolis.

  She looked at Artegal and would have sworn he was smiling.

  “People and dragons used to be friends,” she said. “Is that what this is saying?”

  “Seems so,” he said smugly.

  “Is this real?” she said. “This isn’t just made up?”

  Artegal nodded. “My mentor told me stories, told to him by his mentor. He kept the book. Not many have seen it, he said. Not many want to believe it. Most have forgotten.”

  “But I’ve never heard of any stories—the human side doesn’t tell stories.” Except for stories of Chinese luck…

  “The tales faded in the time of hiding. Except for this.”

  This showed a secret history that no one knew anything about. How could people have forgotten this? Why did only the stories of war get passed down?

  “I can’t read it.”

  “Latin,” he said. “I can read, a little. Dracopolis: City of dragons.”

  “We can show this to people,” she said. “Then maybe we won’t have to sneak around. People won’t be afraid of dragons anymore.” She thought about the dragon-raid drills, and how wonderful it would be never to have another one.

  He snorted. “Not so simple. The conflict is older than we are. Not as easily forgotten.”

  “But we can try,” she said.

  “Will they listen?”

  Silent, she turned the pages, studying the haunting images. The drawings were stylized, flat, the poses awkward. But she could almost see emotion, the expressions on their faces, faint smiles, as the people and dragons looked at each other. It would be easy for someone to say it was all made up, to call it fiction. She had only Artegal’s word for it, that this was history. And the example of the two of them, talking together week after week. That made the book feel true. But it also felt a little like fighting a war of their own, against all the more familiar stories of people and dragons as enemies. Artegal was right—would anyone listen to a couple of kids?

  She frowned. “Is this worth it?”

  “This what?”

  Hugging the book to her, she paced, wondering if he would even understand her explanation. “I’m keeping these meetings secret from everyone I know. My parents, my best friends—though there are actually a lot of reasons I can’t talk to Tam and Jon right now.” She sat on the rock and sighed.

  “Tam and Jon—friends?”

  “Yeah. It’s complicated. Ever since Tam started going out with Carson she’s been obsessed with him, and now Jon and I are sort of going out, and it doesn’t matter how much we say that it won’t change anything, it does change things. Half the time I don’t even know what to say to him. Never mind keeping this secret from him.”

  “Confusing,” Artegal said, tilting his head. “Don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.” She smiled weakly.

  “Can I help?”

  “I don’t know. I guess just talking about it helps.”

  “Then you should talk. That’s why I came—talking is always good.”

  “Even if I am breaking who knows how many laws—”

  “Me as well,” he said, huffing through his nostrils. “Breaking dragon law.”

  “What’ll they do to you if they find out?”

  “Grounded.”

  She almost said, Hey, me too, then realized he was talking about something different. “They’ll keep you from flying?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Pursing her lips, she turned back to the illuminated page. Across the top of a page, a dragon soared, its wings spread over the upper third of the parchment. Straps looped across its chest, around its wings, over its back. They formed a kind of harness, and clinging to the dragon’s back, hands gripping the harness, was another of the tiny medieval people, a man with wide eyes and curling hair.

  “Did you see this?” She held the book up over her head, tilting it so he could peer at it with his shining eye. He snorted an assent. In the cold air, the breath from his nostrils billowed.

  “Did this really happen?” she asked. “Did people really fly with dragons? Or is this just a story? Imaginary.” She tried to remember the terms from English class. “Like some kind of symbolism?”

  “My mentor had a harness,” he said, nodding at the book. “Broken, though. Very old. Like the straps there, see?” His predator eyes hadn’t missed a detail. Of course they’d have harnesses, so the riders wouldn’t fall. If this had been fiction or symbolism, would the artists have bothered showing that detail?

  “So people really did this. Dragons carried them. They flew.” She was starting to get a really bad idea.

  Artegal must have had the same really bad idea. He had that lilt to his brow, the same one he’d had the first time they met, when he’d said, “Because—not supposed to.”

  She shook her head, even though she could feel the smile creeping on her own lips. “Maybe we could make one like it, if you wanted to.”

  She climbed smooth rock faces with ropes and harness and didn’t fall. Already she was thinking of how to loop the ropes, how to knot them together to secure them and hook herself to his back.

  “Am curious,” he said, his lips curving in a wry dragon smile.

  This was like free-climbing a forbidden slope of granite. She wanted to see if she could. She just wanted to see.

  “I think I have an idea,” she said.

  Artegal gave her the book to take home and study. Opening it on her bed, she crouched over it and turned the pages, from beginning to end. Each page seemed fragile, like if she turned it too quickly it would disintegrate. Yet the parchment was soft. Pettable, almost, like a very fine leather. She resisted an urge to stroke the edges, because that kind of treatment couldn’t be good for it. Toward the end of the book, the images changed. They no longer showed the two species smiling at each other, working to move boulders from a field or build city walls. Instead, there was fire. Dragons sailed across the sky, raining down fire, and lines of human warriors carrying spears and swords approached dragons whose necks twisted back in anger. Something had happened, and a war had started.r />
  Tucked between the last couple of pages of the book was a piece of paper—actual paper, not the thin parchment that made up the rest of the book. It was old, yellow, brittle—but not as old as the rest of the book. She was afraid to unfold it; it felt like it would crumble in her hands. She partially unfolded it, just enough to see. It was a map. It looked like an ocean, with large islands around the edges. A black dot on one of the spots of land was labeled Dracopolis, with numbers after it—latitude and longitude, maybe? The handwriting was different from the writing in the book, flowing and precise. The ink had turned to a pale brown. After copying the numbers—she was sure they were coordinates—she folded the page and returned it to the book.

  She checked the coordinates on the map in her atlas, tracing latitude and longitude to a place near the northern edge of Greenland. But that couldn’t have been right, because there was nothing there, just the Arctic Ocean and a bunch of ice. She drew a circle around the general area and put an X roughly at the intersection of the coordinates. Not exactly a point on the map to chase down, but she was still curious. She’d ask Artegal about it.

  Kay took a spiral notebook from her pile of schoolwork and turned to a blank page. Back at the beginning of the medieval book, she started copying letters, trying to make out the words. Artegal had said this was Latin. She ought to be able to find some kind of translation site online to tell her what this all meant, if she could just make out the letters. Unfortunately, whoever had written this had decided to leave out all the spaces between words. She could put the letters down, but didn’t know where anything started or ended. When she put the lines of gibberish into the translator, she got back…gibberish. Despairing, she wondered if she was going to have to learn a whole new language.

  When she finished, she carefully wrapped the book in a clean towel and hid it in a drawer.