“Well, we heard some very interesting news,” Lara said, “and we thought you might have some insight.”
“News?”
“About the witch.” Cal grinned. “The witch you just so happen to spend all week working for. Speaking of, haven't you earned a flower's worth yet?”
“Well,” Elena said, hesitating. “I suppose so. But I like it there. I love working in the earth; I never thought I would. And she's asked me to stay on as long as I'd like.”
“How curious,” Lara said. She toyed with the salt and pepper shakers. “And your aunt doesn't mind?”
“I'm right here, Lara.” Gabriela pulled the fourth chair out from the table and sat down. “No, I don't mind, so long as she's working.”
“Anyway, what's your news?” Elena asked.
“The witch has a dragon,” said Cal.
“Not just any dragon,” added Lara. “A new one. Mr. Ogilvie was out walking the other night and he saw a pair of dragons flying over the desert.”
Elena's heart sank. “Is that so?” she asked, voice forcefully light.
“We were just wondering if you knew anything about this,” said Cal. “Has the witch said anything? Have you seen the dragons?”
She shrugged. “No, I don't know anything about it. I haven't even seen the dragon.” She hated lying to her friends, but it seemed urgent to make herself believed. “Why does it matter?”
“I mean, think about it,” Lara said, leaning forward. “Another dragon could mean another witch, if they're both familiars. Or it could mean she has more magic now.”
“It could mean more drought.” Gabriela's words fell like stones on the table.
“No.” Elena shook her head. “No, it won't. It can't.”
“I know you like her,” her aunt said, “and it's important that we not make assumptions. But it is a possibility we have to consider.”
“No,” she repeated. “There won't be more drought. She's good, this isn't her fault.”
“I hope that's true,” said Cal. “I really do.”
The memory of her aunt's doubt and her friends' concern hung over Elena's head for the remainder of the weekend. It couldn't be just Cal and Lara believing it. She wondered how much of the town knew about the second dragon. Probably most everyone. For such a wonderful town, their distrust of Anabel seemed so out of character.
You believed it, too, she told herself. No matter. Come Monday morning, she would tell Anabel what people were saying. They'd find some way to fix it.
* * *
“I guess I'm not surprised,” Anabel said upon learning the news. “They thought I was causing it to begin with. And they clearly don't trust magic, or me by extension.”
“I don't know why,” Elena grumbled. “They should.”
“You didn't. But you changed your mind.”
With a grimace, Elena took Anabel's hand. “I'm sorry about that.”
“You changed your mind,” Anabel repeated. “That's what matters.”
“So how do we change their minds?”
“I don't know.”
Elena groaned and put her head on the table. “I've known these people for years. They're good people. There's got to be a way to make them less suspicious.” She ran through the conversation she'd had with Cal and Lara. An idea sparked. “I've got something.”
“Tell me,” Anabel said, smiling in anticipation.
“The main problem is that they think you caused the drought, right?”
“Right.”
“So the natural solution is to prove that not only did you not cause the drought, you're helping to fix it, right?”
Anabel pursed her lips. “Oh, no.”
“Look,” Elena said, grabbing Anabel's hands. “I know you don't want them to know. But you're not alone now. If they don't believe you, they'll believe me.”
“I don't know.” She pulled her feet onto the chair. “It's so risky.”
“What have you got to lose?”
“This home,” Anabel said. She looked straight at Elena. “I could lose the home I've built here. I could be driven out of town. It happens all the time.”
“You'll be safe.” Elena gulped. It was entirely possible they wouldn't be safe, of course. But she couldn't bear to lose this hope.
“And if I'm not?”
“Then we leave together.”
Anabel stared. “You barely know me, Elena. Whatever it is we have,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the space between them, “has barely begun. I can't ask you to leave.”
“You didn't,” said Elena. “I offered. We wouldn't have to go far. Another town, maybe a little farther west.”
“I can't. For so many reasons, and I wish … I wish I could run away with you right now.” Anabel squeezed her hands. “But I can't leave this town. I have a commitment to keeping them from complete dehydration. It's why I came here, and I'm not leaving.”
“What about a storm?” Elena asked abruptly.
“What?”
“What about a storm? You and I could work together, take turns, bring a huge rainstorm like we haven't had in ages. Not just regular rain. Something they wouldn't be able to believe was natural.” Her voice climbed in volume and pitch. “And we could do it in the middle of the day, when nobody could miss us. Everybody would see that we'd brought the rain, and they'd have to believe you!”
A slow nod. “Maybe that would work.”
“I know them,” Elena said. “They'll believe you. They'll believe us.”
“You're so new to magic. Are you sure you have the ability to call up a storm like this?”
“I'm not sure at all. But I believe I can, if we take turns. You're experienced, and I'm fresh. I'm not weary from the years like you are.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Elena grinned.
“Yes, but listen. We have to spend a few days resting, both of us. Plenty of sleep, plenty of quiet time. Agreed?”
“Absolutely.” Her smile widened, a little mischievous. “Say, what exactly does 'rest' entail?”
“No work outside. Preferably lots of lying around.”
“And might this lying around allow for some conversation?”
“It might.”
“Well then,” said Elena, standing up. “Would you care to join me in my room for some serious rest, a little more planning, and—if you're interested—more than a little kissing?”
Bashful still, Anabel smiled. “I would love to.”
* * *
Late in the week, they flew to the shore. To save time and energy, Anabel had strapped a bag to her back with a pup tent and some simple food. They set up camp on the beach, well above the high tide line, and built a fire.
“Are you sure about this?” Elena asked once.
“I'm sure.” No more conversation was necessary. They set to work. Anabel closed her eyes and transformed, tapping Elena's shoulder with her tail before she flew out over the sea. Elena set up the food for when Anabel came back and lay down on her sleeping bag. The sound of the waves rolling up and down the shore rocked her to sleep.
A few hours later, Elena woke and stepped outside the tent. The moon glinted over the water and reflected off Anabel's scales, making it look as though she were adorned with garnets. Elena took a deep breath and shifted into her dragon form, stretching her wings to settle in.
She flew out to where Anabel still coaxed vapor from the sea and took over. Giving Elena a clear look of gratitude, Anabel coasted back to the shore. Elena could barely see her once she became human again. With some effort, she dragged her eyes from the tent and focused on calling up the water into clouds without losing too much of the ones they'd created. Anabel had warned her that maintaining them completely would be impossible, but it still stung to watch hours of effort evaporate.
The work was exhausting. Elena and Anabel hardly spoke for four days, alternating between working as dragons and sleeping as humans. Elena thought they'd gotten their fill of each other in the days leading up to this adven
ture, but it soon became clear that she, at least, would never be overfull of time with Anabel. The thought sent her to sleep with a smile every time she lay down on the sleeping bag, still able to catch the sweet scent Anabel left behind.
On the morning of the fifth day, as Elena flew out to greet Anabel, she stared at the sky. It was hard to notice the progress when she was in the middle of it, but now, great looming clouds stretched in every direction.
“I think we're ready,” Anabel said.
“Let's go.”
It took a few hours to push the clouds back to town without losing much rain in the process. Elena made eye contact with Anabel every now and then, and they nodded at each other. Neither one could spare the strength to speak. At midday, they reached the town limits, casting off their clouds like sweaty clothes after a long day. Elena watched and waited.
As the first drops of rain began to fall, she drifted over the buildings downtown, followed closely by Anabel. People stared, dropped the eggs or purses or boxes they were carrying. A small child babbled as she pointed to the sky.
At first, they'd only planned to gather the attention of a handful of people before transforming. But the rain felt good on Elena's back, slipping between her scales and cooling her belly from the rising desert heat. So she swooped low, nearly grazing the top of a building, then spun into the air. Weary though she was, it was a delight to fly freely, without the risk of losing what she'd made. Anabel seemed less energetic, but she still circled underneath Elena, her red wings shimmering in the rain.
When she felt they'd aroused enough attention, Anabel landed gently in the town square, right beside the fountain. Elena touched down on the other side, her landing not quite as smooth.
Both dragons stood still, waiting for the crowd to gather and quiet. Elena could see Cal and Lara at the north end of the square, poking each other in the ribs. She guessed they were talking about telling her of this when she came back from the witch's house. She suppressed a grin, gleeful at the surprise they were about to witness.
It was tempting to roar, to test out her voice over the gathered mass, but she would either end up making a fool of herself or intimidating the people, neither of which was a good plan. She and Anabel made eye contact, and then in one swift move, both shifted back into their human forms.
A collective breath rose, the first quick draw of a bow across strings. Elena stepped onto the short concrete wall around the fountain. She took Anabel's hand to help her up. They looked over the crowd. Suddenly, Elena wasn't so sure of herself. What if they ran her out of town?
She pointed to the sky. The crowd fell silent.
“You have all said the witch brought the drought,” she said, trying to project her voice. “You were wrong. The drought came alone. But she brings the rain.”
The only response was renewed muttering. Elena turned to find Cal and Lara, making desperate eye contact. Somebody had to believe her. Neither of them spoke, but both of her friends smiled at her. Lara bounced on the balls of her feet in her excitement.
“Now we both bring the rain,” Anabel said. Few people besides Elena had ever spoken to the town witch, ever heard her voice. Now each word rung clear across the square, a diamond dropped into a pond. Elena had never heard something so beautiful. “The rain that falls on you now is our contribution to the wellbeing of this town.”
“Just as each of you grows food or builds furniture or repairs clothing,” Elena added, “we bring the rain.”
“This town has been wary of me,” Anabel said. “But today I ask you to trust me as you trust one another.” More of the people were nodding, and the tone of the muttering had lightened considerably.
Anabel smiled. “That's good enough,” she whispered to Elena. “They'll need time to think anyway. We can come back tomorrow so I can meet people.” They both stepped down. Elena turned back, looking out at the townspeople she was no longer sure she knew.
“Come on.” Anabel took Elena's hand, interlacing their fingers and drawing her gaze away from the crowd.
“Wait, I've got to talk to Cal and Lara.” She could hear the pattern of their voices rising above the general noise and craned her neck to find them.
“Why don't you invite them back with us?” Anabel's voice was soft and low, soothing Elena's panic. “You can tell them everything.”
Elena sighed in relief. “I can?”
“Of course.” The smile on Anabel's face was as familiar as the squeeze of her hand.
“I'd love that.”
“Good. Let's go home.”
About Megan Reynolds
Megan Reynolds is a queer woman and a writer of women-driven short stories, primarily fantasy and magical realism. She finds inspiration in fairy tales, folk music, and the everyday magic of other women. If pressed, she considers Nancy Garden and Shannon Hale to be the most significant influences on her stories. When not writing, she loves anything that keeps her near water or mountains. She's currently teaching and seeking a little magic of her own on the West Coast.
Glow
by Caitlin Nicoll
“You can't touch her,” Luan said.
“And why not?” Chataya asked, putting her hands on her hips. She glared at him in defiance.
Luan sighed, as if he had to repeat it for the thousandth time. “Because no one but my mother is allowed to. Those are the rules.”
Chataya narrowed her eyes. “I've seen you pet her.”
Luan smiled in that infuriating way, but didn't say anything in response. Likely he knew she'd call him out on those lies as well.
Chataya glanced longingly at the dragon, curled in the corner of the room. She was about the size of an ocelot, and her feathers glowed faintly in the dim light. It's not like Chataya planned on stealing her. Well, she had thought about it. More than once.
But she didn't understand why she couldn't at least touch her, even with one finger. She'd even settle for the pinkie. As far as she knew, the dragon wasn't violent. She reminded Chataya of a house cat; napping for hours on end in the sun, peaceful and content.
“Fine, then I'll leave.” The festival would cheer her up and take her mind off the dragon for a little bit. The town was celebrating the solstice, and all the life the sun gifted them. The sun provided everything for them, from their technology to their food; even their homes, built in the canopies of the massive, ancient trees of the rainforest.
The air was already full of the scent of roasted bananas and juicy meat. Her stomach rumbled, and she longed to be down there, mingling with her friends and stuffing her face with sticky, sugary yams.
She turned back to look at the dragon one last time before she left. Luan was standing by the dragon's bed, running his hand down her back in slow strokes. He looked up at her with a mean glint in his eyes.
Chataya stalked back into the room and punched him right in his stupid face.
His yelp of alarm woke the dragon. She screeched and launched into the air, flapping around their heads like a disoriented bat. Luan's mother burst into the room, already dressed in her ceremonial robes.
“Chataya!” She said in her Chieftainess voice, which wasn't so different from her Mother voice.
But Chataya ignored it. She was so mad at Luan she hit him again. And again. The next thing she knew, she was being dragged off him.
“Calm down,” she heard her father say.
“He's. Being. A. Jerk.” She punctuated each word with a kick, but they fell short of their intended target.
“And you're being a brat,” her father said.
“Only because he's so awful.”
“And you don't listen,” Luan shot back. His mother put a steadying hand on his shoulder.
She lunged at him again, but her father held her back.
“I think it will be best if you stay home tonight,” her father said. He glanced at the chieftainess, who nodded her approval.
Chataya couldn't believe it. She was being banished from the celebration. Banished.
“But
…” But everyone will be at the festival, she thought. All her friends, her family. The dragon.
“Save it, Chataya. Luan is supposed to be your friend. This is not how you treat your friends.”
“No, it's not,” she said with a pointed look at Luan. She left before they could say anything more.
* * *
Chataya grumbled all the way back to her house. It wasn't like Luan hadn't deserved it. He had a way of getting under her skin, of knowing the exact buttons to push. It was an old fight, she knew, one they've had many times in their long friendship. But she was too stubborn to let it go.
She sighed and contented herself with watching the festivities from her balcony. Butterfly dragons flitted through the air, their iridescent wings a myriad of colors as they caught the light of the dying sun. It was the height of their mating season, and the air seemed choked with them. Soon, they'd return to pollinating the flowers and fruits until their eggs hatched in the sun. But that was another festival for another day.
Horns blew, announcing the chieftainess's arrival, and the tiny beasts scattered. She appeared out of the woods off to Chataya's left, standing tall and proud, leading the procession of other important town officials, including her parents. On her shoulder rested the dragon, its scales glowing brightly. It was different than the butterfly dragons; larger, more magnificent. Her hands itched to touch it, to run her hands along its luminescent feathery wings.
She flexed her hand. It ached a little, but she wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all Luan.
Below, the glow dragon reared up on her hind legs and trumpeted. Then, with a flap of her wings, she ascended into the air and glided around the perimeter of the vast field. The crowd cheered as the dragon began to draw the sun to herself. Soon she was a brilliant white ball, nearly as bright as the sun itself, and she rained sunlight down among the crowd.
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