A Dragon and Her Girl

by Max Florschutz

  As she waved at them, her parents approached with trepidation. “You saved my life, dragon,” her father said as he drew near.

  I nodded. “Your family needs you.”

  “We’re so grateful,” Amélie’s mother wiped moisture from her eyes.

  “It is I who am grateful. For the friendship of your daughter.”

  Her father smiled. “Dragons and humans are not known to be friends.”

  “Johannes is a good dragon,” Amélie said. “He’s my guardian.” She smiled at us, as if dragons and humans should always have been friends

  The adults and I laughed.

  “We know that, dear.” Her mother tousled Amélie’s hair as she placed an arm around her shoulders.

  “But he never let me fly with him.” Amélie frowned.

  “It’s quite amazing,” her father teased.

  “No fair!”

  Her parents and I shared a laugh again.

  “I don’t want you to fall and my talons might crush you.”

  “I have an idea about that,” her father said. “Meet us here tomorrow.”

  The next day, they returned with a leather horse harness her father had modified. It fit Amélie securely and had a handle where I could clasp on with my talons and carry her safely. Their confidence amazed me. “You would trust me with her life?”

  “You proved trustworthy with mine.” Her father nodded as he finished helping Amélie into the harness. Lovingly, he snapped the last fitting and made sure her shawl was secure around her. “Everything is fine,” he reassured Mara, who stood nearby, looking slightly worried.

  Amélie smiled, then hurried over beside me, waving. “Come on! I’m ready!”

  “As you wish, little one.”

  And with that I lifted off, hovering just above the ground as her father rushed in, ducked underneath and held the harness handle up so I could grasp it. My talons closed tightly around it and I tugged gently. It moved with me.

  With a nod from her father and wave from her mother, I took off, carrying Amélie into the clouds. She laughed with delight, pointing at the village as she saw it beneath us. She pointed at the mountain I called home, at the river, and the hill where we’d met. I told her stories about all of them, recollections from the hundreds of years I’d lived here. When she grew quiet, I guessed perhaps she was overwhelmed. I flew in silence, letting her ponder what she’d heard and seen.

  I returned her safely after a daylight hour to where her parents waited in the glen. Our daily visits resumed after that, and although she occasionally brought her parents, mostly she came alone.

  Long ago in a land known as Glendon, there lived a girl, whose name was Amélie. Her mother was a seamstress and her father was a soldier, and her best friend was a dragon.

  She came to see him every day, introducing him to her husband before they married, and bringing her children to play with him. As she grew, their relationship transitioned from mere companionship to a sort of mentoring.

  The loneliness which had once haunted the dragon was never known again. Even the villagers welcomed him with open arms, calling him “Amélie’s Guardian.” Their friendship became legendary. He became part of the family, and he protected the girl and her village for all of his days.

  Aer’Vicus

  Jodi L. Milner

  Deep within the rich earth, under layers of rock and mineral, beyond the understanding of the men who dwelt above, slept Phaedra, the red dragon. The marbled walls of her immense cavern had been blasted smooth with the heat and the fire of the dragons who had come before. Veins of rose quartz threaded around and through the walls, pulsing with the beat of the dragon’s heart. In the center of the cavern stood an immense shining pillar of rose quartz.

  Century after century, Phaedra the Red had protected the settlement that turned to village, that turned to town, that turned to city, that turned to the gleaming prince among cities, the citadel of Chalsis. Century after century, she listened to the trembles of the earth, the vibrations of the air, and the whispers of the stones above her, ensuring that the harmonies of life blended properly, and all was well.

  Until it wasn’t. A dulling, a dimming of the earth’s vibrations, shook her from her pleasant dreaming. Something had changed, something small, something large. The great red dragon breathed onto the wide fire-polished stone floor and summoned a spell. Magic wove into the veins of crystal and gathered before her into a hovering sphere. She peered into the sphere and saw her city, far above her. Bright white marbled cathedrals and tall proud libraries were flanked by pockets of green. Gardens filled with statues and walkways rested peacefully as they breathed in the warm spring air and soaked in the early morning light. Still, the errant vibration, the wrongness buzzed in Phaedra’s ear like a gnat.

  She studied the sphere, following the path of wrongness, the trail of misaligned noise, of disharmonious music, until she reached the wide circle marking the citadel’s heart. The proud glowing crystal Aer’Vicus rose up from its centermost point. It was the very same crystal that stretched its roots reached deep into the ground and pierced the center of her cavern. Aer’Vicus had stood long before the druids had wandered in the deep forests, long before memory.

  Aer’Vicus’s song had changed. No longer did the great crystal vibrate in tune with the earth. The two melodies now fought against each other and the crystal grew weaker because of it. Should Phaedra allow it to continue, the great crystal would fracture and shatter. Phaedra’s cavern would collapse. The gleaming citadel of Chalsis would crumble and fall.

  Within her mind, a fragment of memory stirred from a thousand years before, dull and half forgotten. The crystal required a sacrifice and it was Phaedra’s legacy to complete the task. Another memory floated to the surface, this one broken into pieces like a dry leaf crumpled inside a fist. She could not do this alone, her own rumbling vibration that sung with the earth had changed when Aer’Vicus had changed. The raw edges of her melody ached where a part had been torn away.

  In the distance, the piece of broken melody called to her, wanting to return. The vision within the sphere led her deep within the library, behind the long dusty shelves of scrolls and leather-bound tomes, across the beautiful hand-tiled floors, to an alcove lit by a single candle. There she saw a girl bent over an ancient crumbling book. A smudge of ink stained her chin and cheek. A paper filled with line after line of tidy notes rested under her outstretched hand.

  The girl lay fast asleep, still clutching a quill in her delicate hand. A dark drop of ink dripped from its sharp tip onto the table. Her unnaturally white hair spilled around her head in a halo. Embedded within the girl’s heart, Phaedra’s missing melody sang a mournful tune.

  Awake, girl. Come to me.

  Within the sleeping girl’s dream, words echoed, entering her mind like a worm. Like a summons. A deep stirring, unlike one she had ever heard or felt before, vibrated within her, ringing her bones with their song. And with it, the stern face and long pointed nose of a great red dragon.

  Ianthe bounded awake, gasping and reeling. The weight of the solid marble bench kept her from tipping backward to the floor. A sheen of drool had worked its way under her face. She rubbed the wet off with an ink-stained sleeve and blinked. Something had woken her. She blinked again, trying to grasp the wisps of the dream already slipping away, a red dragon, an urgent need, breaking, discordant music, and bitter melancholy. She struggled to make sense of it.

  The open tome before her related the history of the city, of the origins of the ancient buildings and their eccentric architects. Her task was to find evidence of secret rooms and passages between the five massive structures that ringed the citadel’s central plaza and shining rose-colored obelisk. There, in the detailed margins of the book, mostly filled with ivy and birds, hid a carefully detailed red dragon. She wiped the nib of her quill and set back to work. The library warden, Master Timon, demanded she finish before the end of the day. Lord Kyril of Stormhold had waited long enough for the answer to his quer
y, and patrons like him kept her fed and kept her candles lit.

  Come to me, Ianthe.

  The sound in her head rang as clear as the iron bells hanging in the tower of the Cathedral on the opposite side of the great circular plaza, mixed with the rough grating of one heavy stone being dragged over another. It pulled at her, lifting her to her feet, guiding her through the long shelves of the library, across the cupolaed study hall filled with color from the ring of stained-glass windows high above, and past the head librarian’s book-stacked desk. Master Timon hunched over a book no larger than his palm with his glasses perched on the tip of his abnormally long nose. His many layers of sweaters, cloaks, and scarves poked out at all angles like feathers, making him appear like a long-legged, long-billed water bird, all bones and beak. She prayed he wouldn’t notice her passing.

  Come to me.

  Again, the voice drew her through the looming doors of the library and tugged her down the stairs and into the great circle. It guided her steps, leading her around to the garden space stretching between the library and the House of Justice. Within the garden, a white marble statue of a dragon, with its wings outstretched and its eyes shining, stood tall in the center of a trickling fountain.

  She stopped in front of the statue, taking in its terrible majesty, its noble wisdom. “It is you who called me, great statue?”

  The statue said nothing.

  Come, child.

  The pull came once more, guiding her past the fountain and the statue and down a narrow footpath that wound between arching beech and alder trees. It plunged deeper into the wilder, untamed garden, through choking bushes to a small clearing no wider than her outstretched arms. A wall covered in moss and ivy bordered the far end. Between strands of ivy, a marble dragon’s head peeked out. A stream of water bubbled from its mouth and poured into a scalloped basin. Again, the pull guided her steps. She pushed past an overgrown cypress to the area behind the wall where she uncovered a narrow opening and a set of equally narrow stairs.

  The pull led her down dark, twisting stairs deeper and deeper until she could no longer see. She pressed her hand against the rough dry wall beside her to keep from losing her balance on the stairs as she plunged ever deeper into the earth.

  The base of the stairs opened into a small empty chamber where the air hung heavy with dust and a sharp smell Ianthe didn’t recognize. She followed a small trail of light, shining from an unknown source ahead. The small chamber opened into a vast cavern, so big that Ianthe hugged her arms to her chest to not feel so small. A crystal shaft stood tall and domineering before her in the center of the space, larger than her imagination allowed. She hugged her arms tighter and stepped closer, again drawn by an invisible thread. Glowing crystal flowed away from the top and bottom of the crystal pillar like the branches and roots of a great tree and spread across the floor and up the walls in intricate rings and graceful knots.

  The color of the crystal triggered a vision of the grand plaza somewhere high above her. It couldn’t be, surely this wasn’t the same crystal as the great Aer’Vicus that stretched from the center of the plaza to the sky.

  A dry sliding rattle echoed from the shadows on the far side of the chamber, along with a sound that reminded her of the great heaving bellows in the iron works where Master Timon had once taken her. A great scaled head shifted, not ten paces from where she stood, and a great glowing amber eye opened and blinked.

  “Hello, little one,” the same granite scraping voice from her dream greeted her.

  “Impossible.” Ianthe tripped and fell to the smooth glassy floor as she retreated away from the dragon’s massive head with its knife-like teeth and hungry tongue. The hard edges of the mournful song within her softened in the presence of the dragon and grew quiet and content.

  The dragon regarded her carefully with its golden eye. “You feel it, don’t you? There is a rightness when we are close. Don’t be afraid. I’m called Phaedra.”

  Ianthe crossed her legs beneath the fabric of her loose-fitting dress. While the cavern wasn’t cold, being in the presence of this great dragon sent shivers through her. “I am Ianthe.” She bowed her head.

  “You have been schooled by the masters themselves, spending your time in the histories, and had your nose embedded in books. Have you read of me? Of my ancestors?”

  Ianthe thought carefully, fearful that an incorrect answer might anger the great beast. “There’s not much in the histories about dragons.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Pity.” The immense head gave an imperceptible nod, seen only in the eyes and the slightest dip of the jaw. “This great city has stood for thousands of years, far longer than any city in existence. Have you ever wondered why?”

  The presence of the great crystal pillar captured Ianthe’s attention. She imagined it thrusting up through the earth to where its tip breached the center of the plaza. “The Citadel of Chalsis has never been defeated, never seen the ravages of war. Its citizens have protected it and preserved it.”

  “Oh, the arrogance.” The dragon rolled her eyes and huffed. “This city is protected by more than the efforts of man. This obelisk contains the power to repel ill, war mongers, plagues, pestilence, and tremors. It strengthens the walls, firms the foundations, and keeps the fresh waters flowing.” The mighty beast shook her head and exhaled through her nose. The warm blast tossed Ianthe’s pale hair.

  “Why have you summoned me? Why am I here?” Ianthe asked, feeling small and highly edible near the immense dragon.

  “The Aer’Vicus is weakening.” Phaedra lifted a taloned claw and gently wiped the side of the column. A smear of glittering fragments stuck to her scales. “I cannot strengthen it alone. Its song has changed. If something is not done, this fair city will fall to ruin.”

  Ianthe uncurled from where she was sitting and approached the glowing pillar. She placed her palm against it and for a moment thought she heard strained harsh tones. “That can’t be true. Everyone knows Aer’Vicus is eternal, unchanging. Priests pray to it morning and night. At the feast of Mlinzi we leave offerings and raise our voices in song.” She removed her hand from the pillar and studied it. Tiny flakes of crystal sparkled in the rosy light. Ianthe shook her head. If Aer’Vicus was not eternal, if it could fail, then everything she had built her life around could fail and fall as well. She felt as if she were falling, as if someone had shoved her from the highest peak of the looming spire of the cathedral. “I can see it, feel it even, but my mind does not want to accept it. It should be impossible.”

  “Sometimes the impossible happens. It’s why I’m here. My task is to strengthen the crystal when the time comes.” Her voice grew softer. “That time is here, but I don’t know how.” Phaedra lowered her head. “In this we are bound. I need you so together we can correct the imbalance and strengthen the crystal. I can’t do it alone.” Her burning golden eyes closed. “There is something in you, something special. I know you can feel it.”

  The dragon closed the gap between them and allowed the tip of her nose to brush Ianthe’s arm. The song that felt broken inside Ianthe when she stood alone felt whole here next to the dragon. They were as two pieces of a puzzle, meant to be together.

  “I’ll go back to my master, tell him what’s happening. Maybe he will know what must be done.”

  Phaedra bowed her head. “Go then, but be quick. Each passing hour the crystal’s song grows more desperate.”

  She found Master Timon in his tiny cluttered office, perched on a tall stool to reach the top of the stack of books piled one on top on another. A thick layer of dust obscured the titles on the spines. Ianthe stifled a sneeze that threatened to erupt. She told him about the dragon and the crystal. He listened on, expressionless and unamused as he searched through the volumes. He selected a slender volume from the stack and slid it out with great care before returning to his upholstered desk chair and sinking down into it. “I have no time or patience to deal with this dragon fantasy you’ve concocted to get out of your work.” H
e studied the cover of the book in his hands. “I just had an exhausting discussion with Lord Kyril. You haven’t finished your report for him yet.”

  Ianthe rested her forehead against the worn wood of the doorframe. “Please. You must believe me. I’ve never tried to get out of my work before. Why would I do it now?” She studied the palm of her hand for any trace of the glittering flakes she’d seen down in the cavern. Nothing.

  “You’ve become a young woman. Perhaps a gentleman has captured your attention and you wanted to spend an afternoon with him.” Master Timon peered at her from over the piles of books stacked on his desk with a twinkle in his eye. “How should I know what youth get up to these days?” He snatched his quill from its stand along with a sheet of paper. “Get the report for Lord Kyril done before nightfall and I won’t have you scrub out the library’s collection of inkwells.”

  She wanted to snatch the quill from his hands. “I’m telling you the truth. You must help me. There must be a book that talks about where the Aer’Vicus comes from, about dragons. Are you even curious in the least bit?” She leaned on her knuckles on the edge of his desk, being cautious to not disrupt any of the stacks of books. “Why won’t you believe me?”

  He cleared his throat. “Because you are a no one. You have no titles, no influential parents, no riches, no standing.” He set down the quill and wove his fingers together over his feathered layers of clothes. “It’s as if you are a mouse standing on a corner of the road squeaking as loudly as it can about the surprising lack of cheese in its life. No one listens because no one cares about the well-being of mice.” He sighed and looked out the grimy window. “It’s the same for you. No one cares about what you have to say.”

  His words withered her like a fallen leaf under the hot sun. As an abandoned child, she knew she was no one important. If it wasn’t for Master Timon taking her in, she would have lived and died on the streets. He had served as the only parent she had ever known and a poor one at that. She knew her place; he didn’t need to remind her, but the melancholy song haunted her thoughts. Phaedra needed her. “It doesn’t matter what you think about me. What matters is that you help me find the information I need. Please, at least tell me if there is mention of where Aer’Vicus came from. I’ll do the rest.”