by Paul Cude
And so it was that the two started, For’son sitting motionless, eyes closed, his consciousness back in that small dank room in the middle of the night, recalling everything he could, picking out every last lazy swirl of the quill, making sure to get every last detail of not only the stories but the magic as well. It was important, he knew, to do it right and so very slowly and steadily the two of them proceeded to document all of it, with Orac patiently scribbling away as For’son forensically recalled all that he could.
By the end of the evening of the second day, they were close to finishing, having only stopped to quench their thirst and stave off the hunger in their rumbling bellies on a couple of occasions, and while the both of them held on tightly to their differing views and beliefs, they did, in this at least, work exceptionally well together.
Chance, that’s all that it was, two well worn merchants cruising along the coastline as they always did, after which they’d cut inland taking the most direct route to the capital. About to veer off in a westerly direction to do just that, out of the corner of his left eye, one of the merchants caught a glimmer of something golden sparkle in the fresh light of dawn in the now clear blue sky. Pulling up sharply, he immediately signalled his friend, not out loud, but using the familiar telepathic connection that nearly always remained open between the two of them.
“What is it?” the other asked, assuming that his constantly ravenous friend had spied yet another woolly snack from a distance.
“There’s something over there on the beach that warrants our attention.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. Quick, with me... let’s investigate.”
Following in his constantly hungry friend’s wake, he banked sharply and wondered what had caught his keen eye.
Silently the dragons dropped to the seashore, both of their huge feet making imprints almost a metre deep in the sand. Taking in the golden, yellow and orange dragon just lying there, it was the hungry one who spoke up first, this time out loud.
“We need to help her.”
More than a little wary of the situation, mainly due to his age... nearly three hundred years, his partner could remember a time when a body out in the open like this would be used as part of an ambush, something his friend could see written across his face.
“It’s not that... I’m sure. We live in a totally different world to that time. She needs our help.”
Still more than a little unconvinced, reluctantly he agreed.
“Okay... check her out while I keep watch.”
Without needing to be told twice, Doomos, the younger of the two by quite some way, bounded over to the splayed out dragon, knelt down and attempted to check for a pulse by placing his hand against the thin covering of golden yellow scales down her neck. Taking a deep breath, ignoring the breaking of the waves and the wind whistling in his ears, he closed his eyes and focused solely on his hand. After a moment or two, there it was, he was certain, a distinctive pulse, albeit a weak and unsteady one. Glancing over at his friend, he just had to let him know.
“She’s alive, only barely though. What should we do?”
Considering their options whilst wondering what she was doing out here all alone and why she didn’t have any gear with her, the more experienced of the two, Clondike, could only come up with one solution.
“We need to get her to the capital and fast.”
“You mean carry her between us?”
“I do.”
“Can we make it that far, with all our stuff as well?”
“With the storm having surrendered itself and with a stiffening wind heading in that direction, I think we could probably just about manage to carry her along with everything else. We do need to get a move on though.”
And that was that, between the two of them, both fully loaded already with their supplies of herbs, spices and medicinal concoctions, they heaved her primeval body up into a standing position, their feet sinking even more into the sand, and on the count of three, both gave one huge flap of their wings, propelling them all skyward, after which they slowly came round and headed at pace towards the renowned dragon outpost of London.
Tapping into the source of all of their magic to keep them refreshed and focused, Orac and For’son had decided to plough on and finish the job that they’d started a couple of days ago now, with the librarian carefully cataloguing every word that his warrior partner recited, making sure that no mantra, spell or hex was either missed or misinterpreted.
With a palpable sense of relief washing off both of them, For’son recalled the last line of the last mantra, and letting out a long deep breath, dribbles of flame scorching the edge of both nostrils as he did so, he watched in satisfaction as the deft hand of the librarian finished the last fancy swirl on the page. DONE! But no sooner had that happened than abruptly there was a familiar telepathic tickle, one he recognised from somewhere up above him.
“For’son... what are you still doing down there?” asked the king with an edge in his voice.
“Recounting all of the tomes, spells, hexes, mantras and enchantments that I found during our last outing. We’ve just finished right now.”
“You’re with Orac?”
“I am.”
“I need both of you up here, right now. We have something of an emergency.”
“We’re on our way sire,” For’son replied, all businesslike, deep inside his head of course.
“Meet us in the medical section,” the monarch ordered.
“Will do.”
Starting to tidy away all his writing implements, abruptly Orac was grabbed by one of his tiny arms.
“We have to go... NOW... the king needs us, and before you ask, I don’t know the details, only that it’s an emergency.”
Dropping the parchment and quills back on the table, the methodical librarian followed For’son’s footsteps all the way to the access chute, and right in his wake dived off into the inky blackness, powering his wings as hard as he could in an effort to keep up.
Three minutes later, both of them rounded the corner of the tunnel that opened out into the fairly crude main medical section of the capital, to be greeted by the king standing there in all his prehistoric glory, conversing with the most senior of all the doctors.
“Thank you doctor. Keep me apprised.”
“Yes, sire.”
“Ahh... just the dragons,” sighed the monarch.
“Majesty,” ventured Orac. “We came as quickly as we could.”
“I don’t doubt it,” answered Greger, still looking a little... flustered, if ever a dragon king could be considered so.
“What’s up?” asked For’son, not beating around the bush.
Turning ninety degrees, the king stretched out his wing and pointed in the direction of one of the huge beds hidden behind a gigantic glass screen. Following his lead, both dragons turned towards where he was indicating, to be greeted by a graceful golden dragon, with hints of orange and yellow dappled across the scales of her body.
“Wow!” reflected Orac, taken aback ever so slightly by her beauty.
Greger gave him a look, one that told him just how inappropriate his comment had been.
“Sorry,” he squeaked, much to For’son’s amusement.
“That,” started the king, “is something of a quandary.”
“How so?” asked his warrior friend.
“She was brought in by those two merchants over there,” stated the monarch, arching his head back to indicate the two dragons sitting on a stone bench right by the entrance. “They’re traders and found this one lying on a beach off the east coast, with barely a pulse, hanging on for dear life.”
“What’s wrong with her?” observed Orac, hardly able to take his eyes off the golden dragon.
“They think it might be sheer exhaustion,” added the monarch.
“Hang on,” interrupted For’son. “You’re saying that she crossed the entire oceanic expanse in that storm... IMPOSSIBLE! It can’t be done I tell you.
Not in weather like that.”
“How do you know what the weather was like out there?” asked Orac. “I’ve been with you consistently over the last couple of days. You haven’t been outside.”
Turning to face his friend, Greger was eager to hear his answer.
“There’s a group of dragons that live just off the level one main plaza. More of a sort of hobby than anything business related, they’ve started to put together a kind of telepathic news bundle which they send out every day or so, sometime either late evening or early morning. It only contains any news that they can gather, which is quite sparse, and only really reaches those here in the capital, but the weather features all the time, and that’s how I know, because I look out for their telepathic prompt.”
“And you were reading that while we were still taking down all the information in the library?”
For’son nodded an affirmative.
“I think I’ll have to keep my eye on this little group,” reflected the king, squinting at his friend more than a little, which just looked odd given his huge prehistoric face. “Anyhow... ENOUGH! This is all very much a distraction from what I have to tell you.”
Both dragons nodded and clamped shut their gigantic primeval jaws, ears pricked up.
“When she was brought in here, the doctor in charge heard her mutter one word and one word only.”
“And just what was that?” enquired For’son of his friend.
All serious now, more so than anyone had seen him in a long time, the king gave a quick conspiratorial glance left and right, before whispering as quietly as he could.
“Ra-hoon!”
About to ask if either of them knew what it meant, the king’s need to do so disappeared.
“Oh my,” pondered Orac out loud.
“You know what it means,” asked For’son, beating his friend to it.
The librarian just nodded his humungous head in reply.
“Well...”
Instantly recalling from his eidetic dragon memory what he’d read a very long time ago in a stash of burnt out books in a faraway land, the librarian took a few moments to compose himself before addressing both of those in front of him.
The deliberate silence felt less awkward and more filled with... suspense. Eventually Orac continued.
“They’re creatures, rare and magical creatures.”
That raised a couple of eyebrows, or it would have had the dragons had any, more of a concertina-ing of scales in a caterpillar effect above the eyes.
“And...”
“As dangerous as any of those I’ve ever read about or researched.”
“You’re kidding,” piped up the king’s protector.
“Noooooo,” replied the librarian, clearly agitated.
“Tell us more,” ordered the Greger.
“They resemble a unicorn down to almost the very last detail.”
“Those things wouldn’t hurt a dragonling,” For’son interrupted.
“Please... let me finish.”
“Sorry.”
“They resemble a unicorn almost down to the very last detail, apart from the fact that they have two horns instead of one.”
That blew their minds. But before they could dwell on it, the guardian of everything written continued.
“Known to exist in the far out reaches of Southern Asia, Mongolia and China as we now know them, the black hearted cousins of the unicorns thrive in a dry, arid environment. As for their capabilities, well they mainly revolve around their mental prowess which easily allows them to assert their will over others, including dragons, maybe even controlling many at once. Rumours, and that’s all they are as far as I remember, say that they can interrupt or even co-opt the telepathic communication of others, and not only do they feed physically as unicorns would, but they are also nourished by magic itself and often go in search of it.”
The two dragons listening patiently really didn’t like what they were hearing, or the obvious worry and concern with which Orac was delivering the news. And... it was only about to get worse.
“Some locals, it’s been recorded, swear that they might even be able to use the magic of other races to power deadly mantras, spells and hexes. As well, and you’re not going to want to hear this, but I’ll say it anyway, for all intents and purposes they’re invulnerable to just about any kind of magic. If ever a race could be considered apex predators, apart from us that is, it’s this lot.”
‘Crikey,’ thought For’son and the king simultaneously.
“Anything else?” asked the monarch.
“No... that’s about it. But, as you’ve probably already worked out, they are extremely rare.”
“That’s at least something in our favour,” mused the royal protector.
“But we need to know where this golden dragon has come from and why she’s muttering that word,” added the king.
“Can we wake her?” asked the librarian.
“Not at the moment... doing so now would present a clear and present threat to her life, is what I’m being told, that’s how drained she is.”
“I might have an answer to that,” announced For’son, surprising both of the other two.
“Really?” exclaimed the king. “Do tell.”
“There’s a little known mantra that I’ve been working on in my spare time. I’ve been taking it apart because some of it is totally irrelevant, and splicing it with a couple of other lines of the supernatural. I would think it’s absolutely perfect for this kind of situation.”
“And it’s safe?” ventured the king.
“As safe as any magic really gets.”
“Ohh... that’s inspiring. You want me to risk that young dragon’s life on one of your absurd magical concoctions.”
“It’ll work. The only downside will be that it will leave me more than a little drained of magic. But I’ll recover in a few days. Come on... what have you got to lose?”
‘EVERYTHING,’ thought Greger, but he didn’t say it out loud.
And so with things appearing desperate, and with little choice in the matter, the king consented to let his friend try his new mantra out, it must be said very much against all the doctors’ wishes.
Standing purposefully next to the bed the unconscious golden dragon lay on, still totally out of it, having told the others to remain behind the glass screen that separated her allocated sleeping area from everything else in the medical facility, For’son, more than a little nervous now with nearly a dozen dragons watching, took one, long, deep breath, swallowed in the hope of making his very dry mouth that little bit more moist, and closing his eyes, brought forth the words that he needed in the very front of his mind. Giving them the once-over to make sure they were totally and utterly correct, the courageous warrior dragon delved deep into his ethereal well of magic and in combination with his outstanding willpower, very casually shouted deep inside himself, focusing fully on the unconscious form before him.
Immediately the giant prehistoric head of the king’s protector shot back as far as it would go, forcing him to look straight up at the grey stone ceiling, some fifty or so metres above him.
Behind the glass Orac, of all dragons, took two steps forward, preparing himself to intervene on For’son’s behalf. An outstretched wing from the king stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Let it play out. I’ve no reason to doubt his courage, supernatural ability or intelligence. If he said it would work, we should trust that it will,” mouthed the king.
The librarian dragon reluctantly shuffled back into place.
Beyond the glass and between both the winged beings there, a light show like no other suddenly started taking place. Instantly particles of air ignited, twisted lines of volcanic red, cool cherry, toasted terracotta and soft vanilla filled the room, arcing out from For’son’s gigantic primeval frame as he stood, eyes closed, chest puffed out.
Simultaneously, those watching all gasped at the event unfolding before them, aware of exactly what they were seeing. If you’
d have asked humans to describe the colour they first thought of when either magic or mana was mentioned, almost certainly they would have picked blue. If you’d have asked a dragon, they would have said red, or at least some variation of it. They would have been right, and that’s exactly what those looking on were seeing, the transfer of mana, or magic if you like, from one being to another, something at this time, tens of thousands of years ago, that had never happened before. For’son was nothing if not inventive, original and in supernatural circles, an innovator. Swirling, twirling, whirling around in the air, it didn’t take long for the ethereal energy to find its intended target and home in on her, in one all out assault.
Abruptly, her muted gold, yellow and orange scales started to glow intensely as the multi-hued magic bombarded her motionless body. Out of nowhere, she let out a huge dragon sigh, licks of tiny flame backlighting her pristine white incisors, her dull pink tongue padding about trying to put them out, more through instinct than anything else. And then it happened. She opened her eyes and sat up, surprised to find herself in these surroundings.
As quickly as it was done, it was over, with Keesha, the golden dragon from a far off land, still taking in her whereabouts and the king’s friend all but spent, having used up much of his ethereal energy. With For’son looking as though he would topple over, and knowing that the supernatural procedure had finished, Orac rushed around the side of the glass, and ignoring the beautiful golden dragon that he was so desperate to speak to, grabbed the royal protector, and guided him to a stone seat set back in the rock towards the top of the bed.
